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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342417">Welcome to the Golden Deer Speakeasy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_capricorni/pseuds/delta_capricorni'>delta_capricorni</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/Claude von Riegan, Multi, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:08:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>67,511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_capricorni/pseuds/delta_capricorni</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Often folks would ask, upon learning where I’m from, is whether the Midwest “really is all that ‘wild.’” I used to shrug it off as mere East Coast bourgeois ignorance. But I’d soon realize that what they really wanted was a sense of my survival skills. For the underbelly of New York City, battleground between police and gangs and moonshiners, was wilder than anyone’s dreams—and darker than anyone’s nightmares.</p><p>[ A Fire Emblem: Three Houses American Prohibition-Era AU ]<br/>[ i do not own any of the characters described in this work; all characters and rights belong to the Fire Emblem series ]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. in which Byleth moves to New York City</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“’Ey, come take a look a’dis!” A voice bubbles up from below the pavement and concrete. “We found some sorta underground treasure cave!”</p><p>“Underground treasure cave? The hell’s dat supposed t’mean?”</p><p>“Just come take a look! It’s full of… gee willickers, it’s a bottle o’moonshine! Ain’t seen one of these knockoff babies since Prohibition ended. …Jesus Christ, there’s shelves ‘n’ shelves of it!”</p><p>“Shut up, you numbskull, the Boss is coming.”</p><p>I stride through the alleyway aboveground, tugging at the sleeves of my suit jacket as the junior gangsters file into two neat columns, allowing me to walk between them. I stare down at the sidewalk cellar door, <em>KEEP </em>OUT spray-painted in a garish yellow. Could it be…? The muffled voices of my underlings from within wrench me out from my rumination.</p><p>“She’ll be here soon,” I say quietly. Everyone stands a bit straighter, mimicking the way their hairs stand on end at the mere thought of her. “Get in there and tidy up. Make it presentable. Move the cargo too.”</p><p>“Yes, Boss!”</p><p>I watch them gingerly ease their way down the stairs, the smell of mold filling my nostrils as they step past me with waving flashlights. Glancing to either side of the alleyway to ensure the coast is clear, I then follow them down.</p><p>Before long I find myself staring into the place I once called home. Here is the entrance, where the bouncer once filled the halls with belly laughs at the sight of familiar faces; the bar, where the bartender used to chat up customers seeking to shed their sobriety and secrets; the stage, where music brought together players and listeners alike across warring factions of the city. The once-grand ballroom seems untouched by all but spiders and dust bunnies, empty chairs still awaiting guests at creaky round tables.</p><p>My eyes flit to the back door, once camouflaged with the rest of the stone wall but its outlines now betrayed by overgrown moss and algae. One of the more curious goons presses a hand against it.</p><p>“No,” I reprimand. He drops his hand like a dog drooping its tail, slinking away to join the others.</p><p>“Ooh, this looks nice. Think we’ll find enough of these to sell?” a different underling asks absentmindedly, running her hands over a Colt .25 she’d discovered in the bar sink.</p><p>“Don’t be daft,” another retorts, grabbing it and offering it to me. “We’re here to do military-grade weapons trading. This is like a fuckin’ peashooter in comparison.” I nod and take it wordlessly.</p><p>A looming figure claps a hand on my back. Years ago I might’ve startled or called out in fright; nowadays I couldn’t care less if it were Death’s hand grasping my shoulder.</p><p>“Made it here all in one piece, huh?” Alois gives me an uneasy look, eyes darting around the abandoned space. He’s grown out his beard, almost resembling Dad. “I promised Jeralt I’d stay by your side through thick and thin, but who knew we’d end up back here again? And in cahoots with <em>her</em> of all people?”</p><p>At his appearance the grunts all give a short bow in unison to Alois, then look expectantly at me. After an awkward moment, “Boss, ya been here before?” one of them ventures hesitantly.</p><p>I allow myself a sigh and hold out a hand, my emerald ring glittering under the light. From the group emerge Caspar and Dorothea, hurrying to my side. Dorothea places a cigarette between my fingers, and Caspar holds up a lighter. I take a long drag and close my eyes before answering wearily, “Yes… just a decade ago.” Back then New York, like any big American city, was peppered with speakeasies. Was it purely coincidence that I’d found this place again, or would I truly never be free of those memories?</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>It was an unusually warm day, that autumn of 1931, when my dad and I arrived at Grand Central. Stepping out onto the platform, I was nearly bowled over by a wave of alighting passengers; my dad had to grab my arm to keep me from tripping over our suitcases. Although I was born in this city, I grew up on the midwestern plains, so vast and flat, and I’d never really known what state exactly we were technically relegated to. Not that we expected visitors or anything. Alois literally had to drive for miles through our and our neighbors’ fields before he found our unmarked farm, and that was mainly because my dad followed the tire tracks and hunted him down on horseback in order to berate him for destroying what ended up being an entire acre of crops. As such I had never encountered so many people in one place; I probably saw more people in that station than in my entire life up until that point.</p><p>“Jeralt! Byleth!” Alois’s booming voice resounded across the platform, and I was shocked that the other passengers didn’t give so much as a passing glance at the large man bounding toward us like a puppy.</p><p>“Hey there,” Dad said with a forced smile. Alois was technically my half-brother—the son of my late mother from her previous marriage—who felt too awkward around Dad after our mother’s untimely death to move with Dad out west with me as a baby. As such neither of us were particularly close with Alois, hence why the latter referred to Dad by his name instead.</p><p>Before he reached us he already began running his mouth. “Boy am I glad to see you! How was the trip? Not sure if I could handle several days on a train but hey, it certainly is cheaper than paying for gas!”</p><p>“Right. Give Byleth a hand, will you?” Although I was plenty capable of managing my own luggage, I sensed Dad simply wanted an excuse for Alois to keep his hands busy and for getting us out of the bustling station. While Dad seemed adept at utilizing his muscle memory to navigate the crowds, he seemed just as uncomfortable towering above the sea of heads as I was struggling to stay afloat. Alois’s voice faded into the background noise as we emerged aboveground and onto the street.</p><p>Cars lined the streets, mostly black boxy Fords and all burping exhaust, only making the heat and noise worse. Alois casually led us to a fancier Model A, which stood out in part for its pearly white coat and in part because of its flashing lights and awful parking partially on the sidewalk. He tried waving away the surrounding policemen who were rebuking his parking job. I then noticed that when my dad approached the scene, the policemen took one look at him, saluted hastily, and then scattered like rats.</p><p>“What was that?” I wondered aloud, but Dad seemed to not hear me. Alois was already strapped into the driver’s seat, beckoning for me to get in. I squeezed into the back, nestled amongst our suitcases, and immediately felt nauseous. Alois’s sudden acceleration and jerky turns made me grateful Dad had elected to take the train to New York instead of riding with my half-brother and his stepson. Holding my breath and closing my eyes, I could only hope that we’d all make it to the apartment in one piece.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>A few weeks had passed between Alois’s entreaty for us to move to New York and our actual train ride over, but apparently the police had made little progress on the low-profile kidnapping case for which Dad was recruited to pick up the reins. The kid in question was a preacher’s daughter, the only child of a Roman Catholic church pastor. As for the resident bishop, his identity was unknown to the public, but we would find out soon enough who exactly had made this request of Alois and my dad.</p><p>We found ourselves standing in front of two large oak doors that seemed at least a hundred years old. The church itself was possibly ten times larger than the one in my town, which Dad had also never bothered bringing us to. Even our farmhands, some of whom didn’t speak fluent English, attended services whenever he allowed them a morning off. Once in a while a neighbor passing by on horseback would call us godless heathens, but Dad would simply yell back asking for any local news he’d missed.</p><p>Now, however, Dad wore a perturbed expression, as if he finally came to fear divine punishment. I doubted that was the case, though, and simply watched his eyebrows furrow as the doors swung open. Nobody stood behind them; Alois placed his hands on our shoulders and marched us in like prisoners. I was amazed by the seemingly endless rows of pews—had an entire forest been sacrificed for the sake of human believers?—and enough stained glass windows to fill a museum. Dad remained restless.</p><p>Alois guided us to a capacious vestry. There stood the father in question, whom I only recognized because his photograph was posted outside the church to advertise upcoming sermons. To his right, then, I assumed was the bishop. I was surprised to see it was a woman, tall and elegant, exuding an aura that an agnostic like me could only describe as saintly. No wonder her identity was kept secret; there were folks in my town—men and women alike—who still protested the ratification of the 19<sup>th</sup> Amendment. <em>They really have nothing better to do, huh</em>, Dad would grumble.</p><p>“Welcome,” she said. Her floor-length robes made it appear as if she were gliding across the mosaic floor. “Your journey was long, and I do wish to apologize for requiring your presence so suddenly. But we are most pleased to have you rejoin our ranks, and now with a beautiful child in tow. Byleth, is it?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. What’s the case?” Dad answered brusquely. I was shocked; though he was gruff with friends and family, he usually maintained some degree of politeness with neighbors and acquaintances.</p><p>The woman continued, her voice melting into a faint drone, as if she hadn’t noticed. “Byleth, you may address me as Rhea. And I suppose neither of you are acquainted with Father Macuil, whom you may address as Seteth. He joined our ranks shortly after Jeralt left us.” The man in question gave a curt bow. “It is his daughter, Flayn, who we believe was kidnapped a month ago. The populations of… unsavory characters here in New York have been on the rise, and the police have proven inept in their search.”</p><p>“We suspect the Mafia may be involved; their movements have been recorded all across Manhattan,” Seteth said coolly, as if announcing the weather. “At the same time, however, we have received a number of reports about street gangs of Irish Americans resuming criminal activities. We are not sure what may have instigated their revival, but all this necessitates that you proceed with extra caution.”</p><p>I anxiously scanned the faces of all in the room. Of course Rhea and Seteth wore grave expressions, but were they seriously implicating street gangs? Alois actually looked some degree of alarmed, although he bore the same face as someone who couldn’t remember if they’d turned their stove off before leaving the house. And Dad… Dad didn’t look a mite perturbed. He even seemed kind of bored. What the hell was I doing then? Was I <em>not</em> supposed to be freaked out about all this?</p><p>Rhea smiled, perhaps noticing my panicked expression. “Thus, for what appears to be an increasingly dangerous mission, we felt it appropriate to draw upon the time-tested expertise of the Code Breaker.”</p><p>“The who?” I said stupidly, turning again to my dad. He rubbed at his eyes with one hand and groaned.</p><p>“What, you don’t know?” Alois asked, as flabbergasted as if I’d said I didn’t know my own name. “There isn’t a single person on the East Coast who hasn’t heard of the legendary war hero-turned-detective, Jeralt the Code Breaker! He was hot in demand by both the NYPD and the Church of St. Seiros here.”</p><p>“No, I didn’t,” I replied. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Seteth shaking his head at me.</p><p>“In any case, we are very lucky to have your father back on our side,” Rhea smiled serenely. “He is an important asset to our search for Flayn, and I would not want his services falling into the wrong hands.”</p><p><em>The wrong hands?</em> I wondered.<em> There’s no way Dad would join the Mafia or some random Irish gang… Are these groups openly antagonizing the Church? Is it because of Prohibition?</em></p><p>“Once Byleth and I get settled in our apartment, Bishop Rhea,” Dad’s voice cut across my thoughts, “I’ll come back to start on the case.”</p><p>“Good,” Rhea replied. “Please let us know how we might make your stay more comfortable.”</p><p>Seteth added in a strained voice, “And do hurry back. Time is of the essence.”</p><p>With that Seteth led us back to the atrium, and from there Alois brought us back to the car and onward to our new apartment and new lives. I wanted to ask Dad so many questions—since when were you a religious man? or rather, what made you renounce your faith?—but the way he strode forward without waiting to see if I was at his heel, and making even Alois struggle to keep pace, I knew he must have been upset. Whatever the reasons, I could only trust that he would tell me everything in due time.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The Church put Dad to work the next morning—Alois gave the entire neighborhood a rude awakening by honking his car horn until Dad flung a shoe out our window to shut him up—and I remember lying in my bed, swallowed by the soft cotton sheets and already feeling lost in the big city. Back on the ranch, now entrusted to our most senior farmhands, morning routines were set in stone and relatively easy to follow mentally, although of course physically backbreaking. In another week or so, I thought to myself, the farmhands would be kneeling between rows of squashes and leafy greens, inspecting for shiny skin or waxy cuticles, clearing away sweat with hands browned by both sun and soil. My body was too accustomed to waking with dawn to stay asleep, but my heart was too despondent to make it move.</p><p>So I lay there until noon, when the sunlight and outside din became equally unbearable and my grumbling stomach finally forced myself vertical. I plodded to the refrigerator, only to realize it wasn’t operational, because Dad was suspicious of leaking gas and thus had it unplugged. In lieu of food he’d left a note and some coins on the table, entreating me to “go buy lunch or something.” With a sigh I shrugged on my overalls and work shirt and meandered around the city, only stopping at an old-timey looking café when my stomach and legs protested the lack of food too much for me to ignore.</p><p>Checkered tables in plastic booths lined the walls of the café. I grabbed a newspaper and ordered a simple meal, intending to spend the afternoon teaching myself some new vocabulary. Pots and pans suddenly clattered to the floor in the kitchen as my food was delivered, and I instinctively glanced over.</p><p>What caught my eye was not the ginger-haired girl apologizing profusely, although she was quite cute, but rather the figure turned away from me. She had long, flowing hair, a silvery color that appeared to reflect the lavender of the café walls. She had a silky voice, capitalizing upon its timbre as she comforted the young girl. At the same time she expertly maneuvered another set of cooking utensils to reproduce the meal the girl had splattered onto the floor. I wished for the lavender-haired woman to turn around, but instead she left my line of vision. I tried to focus on my newspaper, but every time I got stuck on a foreign surname or a long adjective, my thoughts returned to her. Perhaps my food was cooked by her?</p><p>Being the fool that I was, I returned to that café every day for a couple weeks or so, each time catching only a glimpse of that lavender-like hair. When during my most recent visit the waitress started fluttering her eyelashes unnecessarily frequently at me, I realized both she and I were probably wasting our time. After that I decided to buy groceries instead. Dad had started to complain that I was spending too much of his church-allotted stipend, and I supposed it wouldn’t hurt my marriage prospects to perfect my own cooking skills. I was definitely not thinking of the lady chef in the kitchen. Definitely not.</p><p>It was during this strange period of limbo—floating, vaguely confused about whether my attraction was to other human beings or just a missing sense of routine—when Alois decided it was appropriate to barge into the apartment unannounced one fine afternoon.</p><p>“Good news!” he boomed, the overhead lightbulb shaking slightly from him slamming the door.</p><p>“Alois!” I exclaimed, more out of alarm than excitement. He seemed to interpret that as a brother rather than a stranger though, and he decided to scoop me up into a hug. I went limp and slid out of his arms.</p><p>“Byleth,” he grinned mischievously, “do I have a mission for you! Jeralt—uh, your father just discovered a new lead on the case. Apparently, Flayn was last seen at this one nightclub on Christopher Street—"</p><p>I asked with genuine confusion, “What’s a nightclub?”</p><p>Alois scratched his head. “Lord Almighty, what kind of emotionally-starved life has Jeralt been subjecting you to?” I could only shrug. “Uh, well, you’ll find out when you get there. Now get in the car, will ya?”</p><p>“Wait, why do <em>I</em> have to go?” I protested. “Did Dad tell you to go and you decided you didn’t want to?”</p><p>But he was already dragging me out the door. “You’ll find out when you get there!”</p><p>Nearly tumbling down the staircase in our haste and then being grudgingly hoisted into that claustrophobic, noisy car, I had no idea that that night would end up changing my life forever. <a href="#_ednref1" id="_edn1" name="_edn1"></a></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>welcome, welcome! this chapter is a bit short &amp; dry bc it was originally appended to the following one, which i decided to split off bc the megachapter was getting a bit long. </p><p>i will add a disclaimer about gender – i’m neutrois/nonbinary myself—but it would be anachronistic to refer to folks beyond binary genders, sexes, &amp; sexualities during this time period. i also do not at all wish to romanticize the american 1920s and ‘30s, as exciting and occasionally progressive as they were. so i apologize for, and note that there will continue to be, binarism/erasure from here on out.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. in which Byleth visits a nightclub</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content warning for sexual slurs, police</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Ford slowed to a halt in front of what looked like a warehouse, except with far more multicolored lights and muted jazz streaming from within. Alois exited and beckoned for me to follow. I reluctantly alighted, just curious enough to take a closer look. A comparatively austere sign hung above the doors, proclaiming “House of Ashen Wolves”. A handwritten one accompanied it: “We are a dry establishment, but if you don’t find yourself wet by the end of your stay, you get your money back, guaranteed!” On the walls spray paint failed to cover up fresh vandalism; I could make out “QUEERS”. I glared at Alois.</p><p> “Oh, don’t look at me like that! I’m not trying to label or accuse you of anything. In fact, they don’t care which of the sexes you care to pursue in your spare time,” he grinned, clapping me on the back so hard I nearly stumbled. “Not to mention you’re young and good-looking, so you’d fit right in. Unlike me, haha!”</p><p>“What if I get in trouble?” I demanded. “What would you do? What would Dad do—to both of us?!”</p><p>But Alois was already jogging back toward the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry, there’s no alcohol at this establishment. As long as nothing out of the ordinary happens, you’ll be fine, li’l sib! Have fun!”</p><p>With that he zoomed off, leaving me in a cloud of vehicle exhaust. I tried to be more annoyed than afraid about the fact that I had just been dropped off in front of a nightclub, although, having noted his large wedding ring, I also decided to have mercy and excuse him from what could potentially become a very awkward situation should an acquaintance discover him there.</p><p>Mustering my courage, I entered the club. I quickly realized that I had underestimated the strength of what I had seen from outside; once indoors I could barely adjust to the bright neon lights, upbeat jazz numbers, and the huge crowd of people, all dressed in light suits or short dresses. I hardly noticed the huge man sitting right by the door, who tapped my shoulder to get my attention. I was so stunned by his bare chest, crisscrossed with scars and tattoos, that I didn’t hear what he said at first. Then I realized I simply couldn’t hear him at all, but I was able to figure out he wanted some sort of identification?</p><p>“I’m sorry, I don’t have an ID,” I shouted. “I can’t drive, and I just moved here.”</p><p>He seemed to rear back in laughter, though it blended into the clashing drums and soulful saxophone. Then, leaning in, he quipped, “You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, huh? That’s alright, you seem like a fine individual, whatever you are. Now go on in, pal, and go have the time of your life.”</p><p>I furrowed my brows, but he just waved me in with a large hand. Above the sea of heads I made out a stage, dimly lit, with a large metal pole in its center. To the side stood a jazz band fronted by an African American female banjo player, in perfect sync with a Caucasian blonde singing a melody in French.</p><p>In front of the stage the crowd formed a circle, in which three sets of couples were dancing, somewhat playfully competitive. Upon closer scrutiny I saw they were made up of two men, two women, and a man and a woman; so that’s what this is, I thought. There were whispers of such places in the Midwest, but now in person it felt much less like uncontrollable lust and more just… pleasurable and carefree. Glancing around there were additional couples of differing combinations, swaying quietly with each other or making out, generally lost in each other while scattered amongst the more boisterous partiers. The music was quite good in itself, but the chance to be with secret lovers must have been divine.</p><p>As wholesome as the scene was, I quickly felt the urge to seek refuge from the crowd and noise and darkness. I squeezed my way past sweaty bodies and over to the farthest corner from the stage. That ended up being the edge of the bar, the only spot in the entire club with a dedicated lightbulb dangling overhead. I grabbed an empty seat and was relieved to see that the bartender appeared too busy with other guests to notice me. I’d never ordered a mocktail, never mind a cocktail, anyhow. I sighed in relief.</p><p> “You alone tonight?” A man appeared at my side, nearly making me jump. Under that lightbulb, two physical features stood out to me: his skin, a deep brown color not unlike the tanned ranchers from out west; and his eyes, an intense emerald that seemed to sparkle even under the dim lighting. He leaned on an elbow on the counter, wearing an easy smile that somehow expressed not a single emotion.</p><p>“Oh, I…” I suddenly felt completely vulnerable, out of place, and acutely aware of my assigned mission. I was lost in that sea of green, eyes that remained stormy though his smile was sunny. My own eyes wandered from his tousled hair swept back against his scalp to his unashamedly open shirt collar, revealing well-defined pecs and only a light amount of fuzz. His chest was dark-skinned too, and it occurred to me that New Yorkers did not endorse shirtlessness, even during the hottest of afternoons (“<em>Public indecency</em>,” Dad grumbled about being disciplined for the other day). So why was he so tan?</p><p>He let out a short laugh and leaned back, knotting his fingers behind his head. “Sorry, I should’ve figured you’re a first-timer here. Though I’m happy to take your blatant ogling as a compliment.”</p><p> “Pardon my prudishness,” I sputtered, “but there will be nothing between us until I learn your name!”</p><p>He seemed to ponder that rationale for a moment, one eyebrow raised. A banjo solo resounded merrily in the background. “Alright then. You can call me Claude. And you are…?”</p><p>“…Byleth.” Suddenly sheepish, I fought the urge to cast my eyes downward.</p><p>“No need to be shy, Byleth.” Claude tipped my head upward with two fingers to look me in the eyes. “And now that that’s out of the way…” I felt my heart thumping, all noise fading away. I wanted to lean in closer to those lips, but something in his eyes… something so melancholy and dark…</p><p>We were, frustratingly and thankfully, interrupted by the flow of the nightclub.</p><p>“Thank you all <em>so</em> much, my darlings!” the blonde singer cooed, cueing the audience to quiet down. Claude pulled back faster than a piston, leaning against the bar as if nothing had transpired between us. I almost reeled forward, placing my hands on my knees for support. Had I imagined it all?</p><p>“And again, we are <em>Constance Nuvelle et les Nouvelles Musicales</em>—”</p><p>“Nope, no, that’s not <em>our</em> name,” the African American woman interjected. “I’m Hapi, that’s Constance, the butches and dolls back there are just temps, and thanks for coming out to see us tonight. Bye.”</p><p>“What? Ahahaha, we’ll discuss this later, Hapi... ahem, anyway, I’m sure you all are simply dying to hear more from us extremely talented and highly professional musicians. But alas! We must rest our poor corporeal bodies, so that we may return to you with renewed vigor and resplendent melodies…”</p><p>Claude elbowed me, clearly a seasoned veteran of these monologues. “Hey, I’m sorry for hitting on you. Well, no, actually not really, but clearly you’re not ready… Anyway, though, I’d like it if you were to stick around a little bit longer. There’s something I really want you to see. It’ll be amazing, I promise.”</p><p>Without waiting for a response, he slid off his stool and began to weave himself into the crowd. I hurriedly attempted to chase after him, but to little avail. Afraid of being left behind, I called his name.</p><p>“Wait, Claude,” I gasped while stumbling, “I can barely see you, and I definitely can’t hear you.”</p><p>Claude shouted something back which I missed, but then I felt his hand feel for and then grasp mine tightly. My heart flared, seemingly recognizing some sign of kinship in those calloused fingertips now pressed against my own. He led me effortlessly through the crowd, parting its waves for us to cross, finally reaching the stage. We reshuffled ourselves amongst the audience, flanking the edge of the stage.</p><p>“There,” he said breathlessly, “that’s the Savage Mockingbird.”</p><p>From a hidden ceiling trapdoor appeared a beautiful woman in a flowing black dress, with deep red eyeshadow and dyed lavender hair decorated with real lavender flowers. She spun effortlessly and leisurely around the pole, seemingly defying gravity. At one point during her slow descent, she flipped upside-down and lifted a leg, thin but taut with lean muscle, into the air, her dress falling over her face to reveal lacy red lingerie, the audience cheering uproariously. I became completely lost in Mockingbird, twirling and fluttering around the pole as crude hands tossed loose change and wilting flowers onto the stage. Suddenly, it dawned upon me that this could very possibly be that woman cooking in the café.</p><p>Finally she alighted upon the stage and sang out in a deep, sultry voice, “Who here’s been a <em>good</em> boy?”</p><p>The crowd erupted into calls and whistles. “Be my fairy godmother!” a masculine voice cried out. Another yelled, “Mockingbird, more like <em>Cock</em>-ingbird!” Mockingbird tossed fistfuls of confetti in that general direction with a snicker, strutting across the stage and gently hoisting herself onto the main floor. Her sequined dress shimmered under the spotlights as she shimmied toward drooling guests. </p><p>I turned to Claude, who remained enraptured. “When they say ‘fairy’ and ‘cock,’ do they mean…?”</p><p>“You must be new to drag culture, huh?” Claude winked. “She’s a she when she’s Mockingbird and he’s a he when he’s Yuri. Simple as that. Though of course each queen has their unique name and pronoun preferences, drag or otherwise, so make sure you ask before you misspeak and get yourself guillotined.”</p><p>“So her… his name is Yuri.” I almost didn’t realize I spoke out loud.</p><p>The audience deferentially divided themselves into two sections. Yuri/Mockingbird began to proceed down the narrow path, seemingly taller on the ground than in the air, swinging her hips and blowing kisses. The audience catcalled and whistled, wandering hands competing for a chance to graze her flesh.</p><p>Time seemed to slow as she passed by Claude and me. The fluidity of her movements was like feathers rustling in the wind, or scales undulating beneath the water… My pulse hammered to the beat of the drums accompanying her stunning performance. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Claude really smiling, not that ghoulish grin baring his teeth, but a small one, eyes filled with fondness…</p><p>A shrill siren suddenly pierced the air, stilling all motion. Mockingbird narrowed her eyes in anticipation.</p><p>“Patrons of the House, this is the NYPD!” a feminine voice boomed. As the order reverberated through the room, an anxious silence followed in its wake. “Cease all activities at once! Hands up, drinks down. All who disobey will be arrested immediately. I repeat, patrons of the House, this is the NYPD…”</p><p>Everyone else in unison began to self-segregate into three groups, flanking the walls and stage.</p><p>“What’s going on? I thought there was no alcohol here?” I asked. Claude stared at me, eyes scanning my body head to toe, and a look of panic spread across his face as he muttered “<em>fuck</em>” under his breath.</p><p>As the crowd dispersed, Mockingbird—Yuri—was left standing in the middle of the room. The policewoman issuing the order emerged from the group of police blocking the entrance, and she walked straight up to Yuri until they were less than a foot apart. As they stared each other down, the room continued filing into the three groups, filling the tense air with only the sound of shuffling feet.</p><p>“You know the drill, Yuri,” she said firmly, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t make me say it.”</p><p>“Say what?” Yuri smiled sweetly. “Oh, I know. Well, go on. Let me hear it directly from your pretty lips.”</p><p>The policewoman folded her arms and stared at him crossly, though she had a wry smile on her face. “You should be grateful I went out of my way to sub in for tonight’s shift. God knows what would’ve happened to people like you if it were someone like Ferdie on the job.”</p><p>Yuri’s face hardened. The crowd began to jeer. “Grateful? To the <em>police</em>? Dorothea, I never would’ve imagined that someday, after watching—helping—you crawl your way out of this underworld worse than hell itself, you’d be uttering those words as if you were passing judgment from heaven on high.”</p><p>Dorothea scowled, hand sliding to her side—a pistol. In the blink of an eye Yuri swiped at his stiletto and out flicked a pocketknife. A small yelp escaped from either Constance or Hapi hovering in the corner.</p><p>“Alright, alright, pretty ladies, no need for fighting tonight.” The man who’d greeted me at the door was now sidling up to Yuri. His hands were in the air, but he was tall enough to use an elbow to nudge Yuri’s knife toward the ground. “Yuri, we talked about this. Pals don’t stab pals, even if they’re being downright nasty. And Dorothea, I’m sure nice up there on the surface, but if you ever tire of getting called a slut for just being who you are, you know this bear will always welcome back a fellow queer!”</p><p>She recoiled in disgust. “Baltie—I mean, Balthus, ugh, don’t touch me!” She balled her hands into fists, took a deep breath, and then yelled, “I’m only saying this once: faggots on the left, dykes on the right, freaks in the back! Any decent folk here should evacuate the premises immediately. Keep your hands raised! Officers, check each person for at least three articles of clothing of the appropriate gender.”</p><p>About ten or so policemen spread out across the room to the mostly preformed groups. Whimpers and hushed protests arose from all corners as they roughly patted down each guest. Dorothea did slap away a wandering hand from one of the officers, but otherwise supervised at a distance in false neutrality.</p><p>Claude grabbed my hand and began dragging me toward the back where Yuri had lit a cigarette and leaned defeated against the stage, but Dorothea caught sight of us and blew a whistle.</p><p>“You two! Halt!” she commanded, striding over to us, frozen in our tracks. Up close I made out a black eagle patch on her left arm. Her green eyes scanned Claude briefly before fixating on me.</p><p>“Can I help you, Dorothea?” Claude asked smoothly, though his hand—still gripping mine—was shaking.</p><p>“It’s ‘Lieutenant Arnault,’ Claude,” she replied gruffly. “Go stand with the fairies. Don’t make me tell you twice. And I don’t have the time to listen to your stupid abstract theories on sexual attraction tonight.”</p><p>Before I could begin to ponder their acquaintance, Dorothea turned her attention to me. “And you. What are you, a hermaphrodite? …Stop staring, you’re creeping me out. Are you dumb, deaf, or both?”</p><p>Claude, who hadn’t budged, swooped in for the rescue. “Byleth is decent folk, and so am I, so as per the decree of Officer—sorry, Lieutenant Arnault, we are evacuating immediately!” As we sped for the door I thought I glimpsed Yuri smile, maybe even laugh to himself, on the way out.</p><p>We parked under a lone chestnut tree just a block down. The street was dressed in the alternating red and white lights of the police cars. There was a fair number of people milling around outside; some were clearly just passers-by awaiting any interesting developments, while others, scantily clad and shivering, had fled the premises like we did. We waited in silence for a bit, me shifting my weight between my feet, Claude’s gaze never leaving the House. His hand, warm in the October night, still held onto mine.</p><p>“Well, that’s definitely not what I wanted you to stick around for. So I’m actually really sorry this time.”</p><p>I wanted to say <em>it’s okay</em>, but I felt uneasy still. What would’ve happened if Claude hadn’t saved me? I couldn’t even imagine. Claude seemed to sense how perturbed I felt, squeezing my hand to signal so.</p><p>After what seemed like hours, the doors swung back open and the police filed out and into their cars. I withheld a gasp as I saw Balthus led out in handcuffs—presumably for his lack of a shirt—but he made eye contact with me and winked, jingling his cuffs at us. Claude raised a hand to flash an OK at him.</p><p>The last to leave, Dorothea padlocked the doors with heavy chains, even though I was sure most of the guests hadn’t left. Then she stepped into the last car and departed the premises wordlessly and quickly.</p><p>“…are they gonna be okay in there?” I wondered naively.</p><p>Claude laughed, finally letting go of my hand and linking it with his other behind his head. “You’re really new to all of this, aren’t you? Don’t worry, the Mafia will be here soon enough with their industrial-grade bolt cutters, and folks will be back in there partying like there’s no tomorrow in no time.”</p><p>“The-the who, did you say?” I stammered. Suddenly I remembered I was supposedly here on a mission.</p><p>“The Mafia,” he said, as if repeating what time it was. “Places like this are safe havens for more than just folks like—well, I dunno about you, but at least for folks like me. And who Dorothea used to be.” He looked wistful for a moment before continuing. “In any case, it’s true the House doesn’t serve alcohol, but it’s a great marketplace for your regular fix, or for trying out something new in a place where others with experience are around and can take care of you if things go awry. And, you guessed it, the Mafia are the main vendors. Recently though there’s been a new gang in town trying to peddle their goods…”</p><p>“Ah, Claude, actually…” For some reason feeling his eyes on me now made me blush. “I’m here because I’m supposed to pursue a lead on a kidnapping case, that my dad’s working on. They said the Mafia or the Irish Mob might be involved.” He cocked an eyebrow but remained silent, so I unprofessionally asked him, “Is there any chance you know anything about a girl named Flayn?”</p><p>“Flayn?” His eyes widened. “A young woman, just turned eighteen or nineteen? Wide eyes like a doe?”</p><p>“Um… yes? Maybe?” It occurred to me that Alois had left me woefully unprepared to deal with the possibility that I would actually land a hit on the kidnapping case.</p><p>Claude scrutinized me for a moment, then let out a long sigh. “So you’re telling me that the Church of St. Seiros went through all the trouble of recommissioning the Code Breaker… for a moody teenager?”</p><p>I wasn’t sure which topic to broach first: that he somehow knew of my dad’s hiring, and probably knew more than I did about it, or that Flayn was not apparently kidnapped. But he sighed, took out a blank note, and knelt on the ground to use his knee as a writing surface. He brandished a stylograph, gleaming golden under the streetlight, and began to scribble. “I’ll admit, this is the first time I’m giving away someone else’s number at a nightclub, but I suppose it’s nice to take things slow once in a while.”</p><p>I huffed, slightly more indignant than embarrassed now. Was his attractiveness his only saving grace? “Whose number is this, then?” I asked evenly as he stood again, groaning slightly as he stretched.</p><p>“Believe it or not, it belongs to the current older man who’s kind enough to house her while she seeks freedom from her own old man. His drag name is the Death Knight, though he’s one of those people whose normal identity <em>is</em> his secret identity. He’s not a homosexual, but rather a transvestite who can’t have his community discovering that he spends his evenings transforming into royalty.”</p><p>My mind was spinning. Grammatically everything he said made sense. But syntactically? Semantically? <em>Romantically?</em> What had I gotten myself into? Then I yelped as he, seeing that I didn’t take the napkin, grabbed it and went through the trouble of stuffing it in the back pocket of my jeans.</p><p>“Woah, what is this fabric, denim? Can’t say I see—or feel, I guess—that too often in these parts. And I’ve never felt back pockets so spacious before, men’s or women’s knickers alike,” he grinned. “You’re definitely not from around here, huh? Did I just touch the butt of a fashion revolutionary?”</p><p>“You’re right, I’m from the Midwest,” I pouted. “And at the moment I fucking hate the city.”</p><p>A glimmer of sympathy flashed across his eyes. “Sounds like you didn’t have much choice moving here, especially if the Code Breaker’s really your dad.”</p><p>I wanted to interject, to interrogate the brunette whose smile held only a manufactured sort of kindness. True to his words though, a black car with veiled windows pulled up to the store, and three people in striped suits leapt out and set to work immediately on the House doors. Their fedoras were tipped downward to obscure their faces, but they couldn’t help shouting with glee when the chains buckled beneath their clippers. Soon people began streaming both in and out the House, some embracing tightly, many shaking and crying. As the scene unfolded before me I myself suddenly felt a bit weak in the knees. Claude caught me as I stumbled, murmuring something like “woah, easy there...”</p><p> “…Does this happen often?” I asked, regaining my strength from Claude’s strong arms.</p><p>“If you mean beautiful people getting assaulted on behalf of the state, well, welcome to New York City nightlife.” His odd smile and serious eyes suggested that he had seen this all too often. I recalled Yuri’s unflinching stare as Dorothea reached for her pistol, not even looking when he drew his knife.</p><p>“But why do the police…?” I couldn’t find the words for what I’d witnessed. Nothing remotely this racy, this invasive happened back home, never mind the fact that homosexuality was criminalized back home.</p><p>He shrugged nonchalantly. “Can’t say I understand the whims of the—what did the <em>New York Times</em> call them? Ah, yes, the <em>hetero-sexuals</em>.” Pausing to study my face for a moment, he then continued, “To answer what I believe what you intended to ask, well, it’s gotten a lot worse since Prohibition started.”</p><p>“Worse, really?” I thought to Dad’s moonlight trips when he believed me asleep, and the disapproving laughter in the early mornings when the farmhands found him passed out, again, in the rocking chair on our front porch. Out where most people couldn’t even read the words “constitutional amendment,” some law made someplace we’d never visit clearly didn’t stop Dad from procuring his favorite spirits.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s been rough. I’m not gonna blame the churches or anything, because I can tell you, I’ve got firsthand experience with religious people who are quite the anti-Prohibitionists. But I also believe your run-of-the-mill folks who only talk to God on Sundays have been feeling emboldened by the general conservative shift nationwide. And the police raids on gay clubs and speakeasies certainly don’t help.”</p><p>“Speakeasies?” I parroted, raising my eyebrows.</p><p>“Have I genuinely piqued your interest?” This time he wore a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling in delight. But something caught his eye—I saw in them the reflection of the moon—and he groaned. “Ah, what awful timing; apologies, but I’ve overstayed my visit here. But, Byleth, I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”</p><p>He slipped a playing or business card into my pocket—in the front this time, to my simultaneous relief and disappointment—and as I looked down for it, he vanished. I stared at the empty space before me, at the deep brown wood of the chestnut tree. The audience whooping for Mockingbird with renewed strength rang in my ears, replacing the shrieking police sirens. Making sure nobody was watching, I pulled out the card. It turned out to be a set of directions, in gold stencil and featuring a deer antler-like insignia in the corner. I tucked it into my breast pocket, then ran all the way back to my apartment.</p><p>-</p><p>When I got back shortly past midnight, I found Dad pacing in the living room, and my stomach twisted with guilt as I realized he had no way to reach me. I tried to reassure him by explaining my discovery, but he was more upset that Alois had left me to fend for myself alone at a nightclub than anything else.</p><p>After another hour of back-and-forth variations of “you’re sure you’re okay, kid?” and “yes, Dad, I’m fine,” he gratefully accepted Claude’s note, and we tried to brainstorm a plan for Dad to try to play diplomat between this so-called Death Knight and Seteth. Eventually, we decided it was best to let Flayn speak for herself, hoping that the conversation would be tempered by the distance granted by the telephone. We also decided to give Alois more than an earful whenever he next came by the apartment.</p><p>I never found out how that family dispute was settled. Following that night Dad asked me to stay away from Bishop Rhea and Father Macuil. He suspected there were negative relations between the Church of St. Seiros and the New York Police Department for what turned out to be a very simple case to remain unresolved for so long, and he felt that the police would be the more reliable source of protection in the end. In due time he would be proven wrong, fatally wrong, but for now I could all but heed his warning. <a href="#_ednref2" id="_edn2" name="_edn2"></a></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- again, apologies for binarism ,,,<br/>- women did wear pants in the 1920s, but they were typically sportswear-type pants made of linen or tweed. jeans/denim didn’t become everyday fashion until about the 1960s due to popularization by protestors.<br/>- in english-language texts, while “homosexual” first appeared in 1892, “heterosexual” appeared in 1924 and “straight” in 1941. i suppose it was so much the norm there was no need to name it, esp. on equal terms with homosexuality.</p><p>anyway, hoping to update this every couple weeks, so look out for chapter 3 on ~july 31st! in the meantime, though, claude's birthday is next week... and maybe i will have a [completely unrelated, smutty] one-shot posted in celebration........</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. in which Byleth goes out for drinks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took me a couple weeks to muster up the courage to make good on Claude’s invitation—and to use a bit of Dad’s earnings to buy a set of apparel that wouldn’t so visibly mark me as an outsider (and that didn’t have back pockets)—and another week to plan everything so as not to raise Dad’s or the Church’s suspicions. Thankfully, I had Alois on my side, because I wouldn’t stop bothering him about how he owed me after that night, though of course I left out the part about how I didn’t have a <em>bad</em> time per se.</p><p>“Take care, both of you,” Dad called after us as Alois began cranking up the engine of his car.</p><p>“We promise to return as sober as we left!” he responded a bit too cheerfully. Alois had a real mission that night—scoping out a cocktail party with a rather vicious entourage composed of two other detectives posing as flappers, Catherine and Shamir—and I was simply tagging along for the ride.</p><p>Dad merely rolled his eyes, unfazed by Alois. “If you can’t hold it in after the party, just make sure you do your business <em>outside</em> the car. I won’t be the one paying if you stink up those nice leather seats.”</p><p>Alois belted out genuine laughter this time. “Old man, you’re the one most likely to be running up a bill on this baby, and we all know who’d pay for that.”</p><p>Dad grinned and shoved Alois into the driver’s seat, winking at me in the process. “Alright, get out of here, you punks. Go have fun, but also don’t forget to keep a low profile.”</p><p>“Yes sir!” we shouted in unison over the roaring engine. I watched Dad disappear behind a street corner, and, golden card in hand, I discreetly began committing to memory the route to the Golden Deer speakeasy. Though I had intended to do so simply for temporary convenience, little did I know how often I’d be retracing these steps over the next year.</p><p>-</p><p>Alois dropped me off at the southwestern tip of Central Park. From there I abandoned the brilliant red and yellow foliage of the trees to venture into the Midtown maze of nondescript alleyways. Occasionally traversing through private lots, I finally came across the designated sidewalk cellar door in a dark corridor flanked by garbage dumpsters on either end. The metal double doors were identical to every other in New York save for one feature that I had to kneel to see: a set of intricate golden antlers, branching across the handles of the doors, twins to the lone antler on my card. Gingerly then, I swung one open and began my descent into the abyss.</p><p>In the dark, the air a bit chilly and damp in comparison to the crisp night air at the surface, the sound of my footsteps against concrete made me feel I was walking an eternity. Then I began to hear filtered noise streaming out as faintly as the light – a cacophony of voices, clinking glasses, and vibrant music. My pace quickened, the light and sounds growing ever louder—</p><p>“Oof!” I ran smack into a very large pillar, albeit one that was also warm and a bit more pliant than concrete. Hopefully understandably then, I recoiled in utter surprise when it spoke to me.</p><p>“Well here’s a new face! In a rush to get some drinks in, aren’tcha?”</p><p>The faint light pouring from a set of double doors outlined the silhouette of a man even larger than my dad, and my dad already stuck out like a sore thumb due to his size in the crowds of New York. I vaguely recalled Balthus from the Ashen Wolves, wondering if he was also so stupendously large up close. As my eyes adjusted to the lighting, they found a circular yellow patch with a black antler branching across a backdrop of yellow stars, stitched into a shirt pocket that held a golden card. I’d found the right place.</p><p>“Um… I’m looking for Claude?” It suddenly dawned on me that, given the nature of the location where we’d met, it was possible that that wasn’t his real name.</p><p>“Aw, you too? Nobody ever asks for Raphael,” the man pouted, and I felt as if I’d given a sphinx the wrong answer to her riddle. But then he erupted into a belly laugh that bounced off the walls, clapping me on the back with enough force to make my knees almost buckle. “Nah, just kidding. Nobody gets around like Claude does. But yeah, the name’s Raphael. Come say hi to either of us anytime!”</p><p>I mustered a weak smile. “I’m Byleth.” There was an awkward pause, the faint music barely filling the air between us. Then as Raphael moved to let me in, the doors seemed to fling themselves open.</p><p>“Hey, you actually came.” Claude propped himself against the doorframe nonchalantly, the dazzling light behind him framing his silhouette like an angel’s. Suddenly my collar felt tight against my throat, and I resisted the urge to loosen it. He himself was wearing a pinstripe suit, the jacket a bright yellow in stark contrast to the black shirt—collar open, like at the Ashen Wolves—and matching slacks. In the jacket pocket, instead of a pocket square, he had tucked in what I guessed was a tarot card. Peeking out over its edge was the head of a black deer, with golden branching antlers framing a silver crescent moon.</p><p>As I stared he continued smoothly, “I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be too hard for someone as fresh as you to find, but to be honest I wasn’t sure if—actually, never mind. Just come on in, will ya?”</p><p>Still speechless, I followed him into the grandest ballroom in my life that I had ever set foot in. As Raphael closed the door behind us, the light and sound, no longer having an escape, suddenly seemed amplified. The Golden Deer was much more brightly lit than the Ashen Wolves, resembling a banquet hall more than a dancefloor. An expanse of tables and chairs, variously filled with people from all walks of life, filled most of my view. To my left a petite silver-haired girl poured out drinks with excruciating precision for her customers, meanwhile chatting with a man with long hair partly tied into a bun.</p><p>To my right a slightly raised stage held a ragtag band of musicians: a vaguely familiar ginger-haired woman, commanding the microphone; a bespectacled man, delicate fingers flying across a baby grand piano; a petite woman dwarfed by the double bass she plucked with ease; a man, red face matching his hair, trumpeting a vibrant melody; and a man with a buzzcut slamming his heart out on the drums. They all wore custom-tailored zoot suits—somewhat out of place in New York—with the same yellow-black patch I saw on Raphael’s shirt, and all but the drummer had cards tucked in the pockets as well. Perched on the edge of the stage I was surprised to recognize Hapi and Constance, the former tuning the strings of her banjo. Both were kicking their legs gaily and showing enough calf to make even me blush.</p><p>While I was dazedly staring at the scene before me, registering nothing and everything at once, Claude waved down a woman with her hair cut like a young man’s, who appeared like she’d fit in more at the Ashen Wolves. Though she was busy picking up empty glasses and wiping down tables, he leaned over to whisper something in her ear, pointing at me. Her face lit up, and she dashed toward the bar area and procured two tall glasses filled with saccharine clear liquid for Claude and me.</p><p>“It’s an honor to serve you!” she grinned, shoving the drinks into my hands. By the smell of them, there was probably more alcohol in one glass than I’d had in my young adulthood spent mostly in Prohibition. “I’ve read all about Jeralt the Code Breaker in the papers! Although they never mentioned he had a kid... Well, my name’s Leonie. And I’ll be first in line if he ever decides to take on an apprentice, got it?”</p><p>Before I could protest she bounced away, a new skip in her step as she resumed running and bussing drinks. I felt Claude’s hand close around my own as he deftly maneuvered a drink into his grasp.</p><p>“Welcome to the Golden Deer speakeasy.” Claude raised his glass with a lazy smile, though his eyes remained alert and somewhat severe, as if evaluating my every move. I swallowed my excitement and tried to steady a shaking hand as I clinked my drink against his. Was I nervous because of the illicit nature of what I was doing, because of the overstimulation of everything, and/or because seeing him finally in the light, I was forced to confirm the observation that Claude was devilishly handsome?</p><p>Claude took an excessively long sip from his drink—a challenge, it felt like—so I followed suit and aimed for an equally large volume. If it proved to be my undoing, at least it would be in his company. Was I a bit tipsy when that thought crossed my mind? I blamed my nonexistent alcohol and noise tolerance.</p><p>“How is it? And how are you? Is it too loud in here for you?” he asked coolly. My cheeks felt warm again, although I hoped I could pass it off as the alcohol taking effect.</p><p>“Uh, it’s good,” I managed, raising my drink in a haphazard toast and spilling a little. Smooth, Byleth.</p><p>He smirked. “Just ‘good,’ huh? I’ll have to tell Lysithea to try a little harder next time. Her elderflower gin and tonic is supposed to be the best in New York City. Too bad Linhardt’s trying to squeeze another stupid philosophical debate out of her while she’s on the clock. …Or perhaps is this your first real drink?”</p><p>Now I was really blushing. Claude raised an eyebrow, then laughed—a hint of something genuine in there. “Oh God, I’ve taken your alcohol virginity, haven’t I? And in such an improper time and place!”</p><p>“No, no. This place is amazing,” I stammered. He looked at me, silently requesting more. “I mean, I’ve never been to a speakeasy before today, and, but, so, I mean, it’s so… lively. And I love jazz. Out where I’m from we’ve mostly got the blues, nothing so upbeat. And there’s people from all over, it feels like.”</p><p>He grinned and took my free hand, which I silently cursed for being a mite too sweaty right at that moment. “From all over, huh? Let me take you on a quick journey around the world, then.”</p><p>Countless faces flew by and too many hands shook mine, but I always noticed when Claude would grab my hand again to find another group of patrons to mingle with. Names slipped out my mouth faster than I could pour alcohol in, but finally we settled at a table close to the stage (“Barring the Golden Deer staff, here’s some of the most important people I’ve ever met in my short life,” Claude prefaced).</p><p>I gravitated first toward a Chinese man who’d Anglicized his name to Felix; he was the first Asian I saw since arriving in New York, when formerly I’d ranched with many back out West. Indeed, he had left California following the death of his elder brother in a gold mine explosion, for which “those white devils” who owned the mines refused to compensate his family. In a fit of rage, he conscripted his best friend, José—a <em>mestizo</em> farmhand who played with a local mariachi band under the stage name Sylvain—to blow up the mine owners’ properties together. They subsequently fled all the way to the Empire City.</p><p>“To top it off, they were laughing the entire trip across the country,” added Ingrid, a blonde woman sitting beside Felix, resting her chin in her hand. She was the daughter of one of the mine owners, but in an act of equal parts love for Felix’s brother and desperation to escape a suffocating family situation, she aided them in their escape and impulsively decided to tag along for the ride.</p><p>Gesturing to the trumpeter on stage, Felix said, “That’s Sylvain up there, my partner in crime.” After that night at the House of Ashen Wolves, I wasn’t sure if the near-invisible smile on his face signified that he meant the epithet romantically or purely literally.</p><p>Right on cue most of the band took a break, with the ginger singer and Constance filling time with an unhurried duet and the drummer providing a steady beat. Claude motioned for the musicians to come greet me, meandering over one by one. Hilda the bassist draped her arms around Claude and pressed her cleavage into his shoulder as she introduced herself to me as “just an old friend,” like a cat displaying its belly—<em>look, but don’t touch</em>. I ascertained with Hapi that she and Constance indeed were at the Ashen Wolves, learning that on off nights they performed at the Golden Deer for extra tips. Ignatz eagerly clasped my hand and was about to give me an overly earnest welcome, only to scramble back onstage when a guest thought it appropriate to set his beer on the piano. Sylvain then leaned close and gave me a brazenly wet kiss on the cheek by way of his introduction. In a wonderful team effort, both Ingrid and Felix grabbed him in a well-practiced motion by the shoulders and dragged him away.</p><p>Next I met two ladies wearing austere, long dresses, silver crosses on necklaces, and the gentlest of expressions, emanating a European ambience in stark contrast to the rowdy band members. Amidst the din of the speakeasy, they whispered to each other rather than attempting to shout, giving them the appearance of two schoolgirls sharing secrets. Mercedes certainly seemed older than many of the guests, slight wrinkles framing her kind eyes. She kept a protective hand perched on one of the handles of Marianne’s wheelchair. The latter might’ve appeared youthful were it not for the dark bags under her eyes, her limp legs pushed to one side of her chair, and skin pale as snow. I wondered if she was one of the child victims of the New York polio epidemic fifteen years ago, which Dad and I had narrowly avoided by a few years with our move out west. While I hadn’t the courage to inquire, I did learn that Marianne was the adoptive daughter of a pastor at a Lutheran church in Pennsylvania where Mercedes had once sought refuge as a child with her mother. Why they were at the Golden Deer though—not a drop of liquid between the two of them—I was to find out, to great surprise, in due time.</p><p>Lastly I met Dimitri, perhaps the only person in the room who could have properly been described as a gentleman. He sat beside Marianne and Mercedes, clearly not a part of their conversation but close enough to not appear left out. The way he composed himself and handled his drink—a simple imitation scotch on the rocks in a highball glass—allowed no room for pity nor suspicion. He was reticent about his background and his steady voice betrayed no discernible geographical origin, as if he’d spent long hours alone practicing erasing his accent and his history with it. He preferred expounding upon the qualities of our drinks, even drinking from Claude’s glass at the latter’s request for appraisal. He, too, seemed tied to Marianne by an invisible thread, never straying too far from her side. Absentmindedly I pictured him carrying Marianne up and down the stairs to the speakeasy in his arms, with Mercedes towing the folded wheelchair ahead of them. Out of everyone I’d met so far, Dimitri piqued my interest the most, if only because he was the most reserved in the entire speakeasy.</p><p>“Well, well, Claude! What poor soul have you ensnared in your trap this time?” A man, dressed even more formally than Dimitri but to the complete opposite effect—the garishly large rose affixed to his lapel certainly didn’t help—squeezed into the seat between me and Claude.</p><p>Claude groaned and turned to me. “You came here completely out of your own volition, isn’t that right? Tell Lorenz that you did.”</p><p>“You can’t ignore me, Claude. Don’t be so snobbish,” said Lorenz, nose raised in the air. “You at least owe me a proper introduction, after what you did to my father’s business.”</p><p>“What? That was ages ago—alright, whatever. Byleth, this here’s Lorenz, heir to the Golden Deer’s biggest competitor. Unlike us though, in the daytime they operate as a restaurant, under the name—”</p><p>“Gloucester Meadows!” Lorenz exclaimed, raising his drink. I hesitantly lifted mine an inch in reply. Beaming, Lorenz bashed his glass against mine and took a long drink. “Good fellow! Byleth, was it?”</p><p>“Anyway,” Claude interjected, “Lorenz is just mad because the Golden Deer is way more popular than Gloucester Meadows for drinking and live music. But since you’re a restaurant in the daytime, your overall profit margins far exceed ours! So why do you still insist on ‘keeping tabs’ on us as you say?”</p><p>“Must I repeat my well-thought-out explanation every time?” Lorenz huffed. “Precisely because—”</p><p>“Hello, my lovelies,” a silky voice wafted over, draping around us like a warm scarf. Claude instinctively stood to greet the guest, whom he embraced and then shook hands with.</p><p>“Welcome, Yuri,” Claude said softly. From my angle I couldn’t quite see the expression Claude was making, though I desperately wished to. Lorenz blushed and hurried away for some reason.</p><p>Not that it mattered; Yuri, whose glittery red eyeshadow made his eyes glow like rubies, turned his full attention to me. “Who’s our new friend here?”</p><p>Claude and Yuri, standing next each other, could not have seemed more different yet complementary, under the glittering lights of the Golden Deer ballroom rather than in the dim House of Ashen Wolves. Compared to Claude’s mahogany flesh and sturdy build outlined by his tight jacket, Yuri seemed deathly pale and almost skeletal, but his long hair that slightly curled at the ends, accented by scarlet lipstick to pair with a vermillion tailcoat, breathed a feminine life into him. Yet their smiles were the same—practiced, easy, not quite fake or ironic, but harboring dark secrets between those lips.</p><p>I scrambled to stand up next to Claude, but Yuri placed a hand on my shoulder. “No need to trouble yourself, darling,” he murmured. Then, with my shoulder as his support, he leaned down and kissed me on my left cheek, then right, then left again; a traditional French greeting. Especially compared to Sylvain’s soppy lip-smacking, Yuri simply exuded elegance. “Hello,” he repeated. “You can call me Yuri.”</p><p>“Byleth knows. We saw your show the other night,” Claude grinned. Somehow it felt like he was butting in, and I swallowed my inexplicable irritation, instead nodding in agreement.</p><p>Yuri took Lorenz’s seat, folding a leg across the other. “The night of the police raid? I’m sorry you had to see that. Dorothea and I go a long way back, so in all honesty, she was right, I should’ve been thankful.”</p><p>“What about Balthus?” I inquired. Claude and Yuri gave each other a look, the latter chuckling.</p><p>“Look at you, displaying such concern for strangers,” Claude complimented, and I blushed again. “They always scapegoat Balthus, just because he’s such an easy target. The lives of bears aren’t easy, huh?”</p><p>Yuri shook his head in agreement. “Not at all. But to answer your question, Byleth… I’m not sure how much Claude here has revealed about himself—very little, I’m sure—but I hope he’s okay with me informing you that he is in fact the owner of this speakeasy. As such, he has more than enough money to spare for Balthus’s bail… So don’t be afraid to come back another night, yeah?”</p><p>“Hey, Yuri!” We all turned to see the ginger-haired singer dashing over, almost bowling over Leonie with her platter of drinks along the way. “What took you so long? I already sang all my solos tonight!”</p><p>Ingrid leaned over to interject, “Did you forget you made such a huge mess in the kitchen today that both he and your father had to shut down the café to clean it up thoroughly? Annette, you should be apologizing to him, not admonishing him!”</p><p>“Ugh, I know, I won’t put an entire pot of soup in the oven next time…” Annette stuck her hands in her pockets sheepishly. “But I’m glad you made it over! Hapi’s got a new piece she wanted to show you.”</p><p>“By all means,” Yuri gestured toward the stage. “Don’t worry about the kitchen, by the way. We’re all sorted for tomorrow.” Annette curtsied and scurried back onstage, tripping along the way in her haste.</p><p>Watching her tumble I was reminded of my café misadventures from last month. But would it be too revealing if I asked directly? Instead I went with, “Are you the owner the House of Ashen Wolves then?”</p><p>He hummed, mulling over his answer. “The House is cooperatively owned by the four of us original Ashen Wolves, but… everyone knows I’m the Queen of the House. And a Queen needs three things: de facto control, loyal subjects, and a nice coffee on the house from a family-owned café once in a while.”</p><p>My curiosity got the better of me. “Do you by any chance work in that one café in Greenwich Village with Annette? I… I think I saw you there, a few times maybe.”</p><p>“A few times, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, and I instantly knew I had been caught in the act. Still, he continued, “Yeah, that’s my day job. Annette’s father owns the place, which is why she’s employed there too. God knows how she would’ve gotten any sort of job there otherwise.”</p><p> “What’s this?” Claude actually butted in this time. “In a surprising turn of events, it has been revealed that Byleth has been making googly eyes at Yuri for weeks, nay, perhaps <em>months</em> already at this point!”</p><p>“Claude! Are you hitting on me or not?” I retorted, lightly smacking his shoulder. Claude gaped for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter, pleasantly surprising everyone at the table.</p><p>Yuri leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms and legs, smiling serenely at me. “It’s a real treat to see Claude enjoy himself for once! You’re a keeper, Byleth. You’ll come by more often in the future, yeah?”</p><p>I don’t remember how I responded, though it was probably something bashful and stupid. What I do remember, though, is spending the rest of that night surrounded by those folks from all walks of life, drinking together, enjoying the jazz band, chattering without a care in the world. Here, I felt safe from the sheltering of my father, the scrutiny of the Church, the aggression of the police, the stuffiness of the overworld of Manhattan. Unlike most feelings, the intensities of which often fade with each iteration into numbness, here I was enveloped by something different. After weeks of wandering alone in this huge, apathetic city and a lifetime of living amongst but not with people out in the Midwest, I’d finally found a place where I felt I maybe could call home. And all I wanted was to see Claude and Yuri smile.</p><p>-</p><p>As Dad’s workdays increasingly extended into evenings and then into early mornings, so too did my active hours push farther and farther into the night. Looking back I suppose I should’ve paid more attention to his haggardly face rather than the hours at which it was safe for me to slip out. But I was lonely, I had lost my way of life, and worst of all, my personhood felt dwarfed by such a huge city. So out I slipped. Surely Dad knew I was going out every night, and surely he recognized that demeanor of post-inebriation whenever we crossed paths at three in the morning. Whether he didn’t care enough to stop me or cared too much to say no, I never knew. He always left me a dollar in the morning.</p><p>I soon overcame my fear of the subway, that hulking, disgusting, worm of steel, since I quickly realized it was worth bypassing awkward conversations with Alois. But although it was much cheaper than a taxi, and though I’d been saving money by making my own meals, the nickels for subway tickets—and more importantly, quarters for drinks—really added up. After a couple more weeks of frequenting the Golden Deer, I decided I would ask Claude for a job.</p><p>That night I strode in with determination, while attempting to keep my gait easygoing as I walked up to the man of the hour at the bar. Ignatz was playing a somewhat lonesome, lilting melody on the piano as the other musicians rested. I thought I glimpsed Hilda watching me as I went directly for Claude, but when I looked in her direction she appeared immersed in teasing Lorenz, so I shrugged it off.</p><p>“I gotta say, I’m quite pleasantly surprised that you’ve become such a familiar face around these parts,” Claude grinned, raising a sleek martini glass in a toast.</p><p>“I’m obviously here for my nightly fix, and not for the company or atmosphere,” I responded, smooth as crystallized honey. Lysithea passed by briefly, delivering this week’s G&amp;T special, before returning to be cheered on by Leonie in a verbal spar with Linhardt. She had learned to prepare any cocktail of her choice upon sighting me entering the ballroom, relishing the opportunity to experiment with a beverage that I had not nearly enough experience to properly critique. I wondered if Claude caught on to the fact that I participated mostly because of my inability to choose a drink on my own, but I figured that it was more important to give Lysithea a break from his constant and exacting evaluations of her drinks.</p><p>“Right, right. How’s the illustrious Code Breaker? The Church still working him to the bone and sucking out his soul?” Claude had lowered his voice as to not alarm Leonie. The last time he made a similar joke, Leonie demanded to see the heads of the Church and give them a good beating, and it took half the Golden Deer staff to calm her down.</p><p>At the same time the thought of my Dad sobered me. “You tell me, you seem to know more about his work and whereabouts than I do.” I gave Claude a mock frown as he gratuitously winked at me. “Say, Claude, you wouldn’t happen to have any… additional employment opportunities here, would you?”</p><p>His eyes widened for a moment, and I waited for him to scan my face for any signs of facetiousness. I had come to realize that whenever I said something apparently surprising to him, he’d always appear somewhat taken back and then hesitate, as if waiting for a cruel knockback of “just kidding!” or the like.</p><p>Suddenly he leaned in close, his lips just grazing my earlobe. “Perfect timing, Byleth. I was just thinking, I wanna take you someplace special next week. …If you’ll have me, of course. Don’t worry, it’ll be fun!”</p><p>He pulled back and took out his stylograph. In the light I could see its beautiful black case, engraved with golden curls and dots etched into the metal. He scribbled another note for me on a yellow branded napkin, this time an address on Mott Street. I sifted through my mental map of New York City that I’d been working on since my trip to the House. Mott Street… the heart of Chinatown?</p><p>“We’ll meet there next week on the 25<sup>th</sup>, at eight-oh-eight PM on the dot,” he instructed, all businesslike again. “The store will appear to be closed, but you should be able to step right in. Make sure no one sees you. Oh, and keep the whole night free for me, will ya? I’ll get you home safe, but it’ll be quite late.”</p><p>“That’s the day before Thanksgiving,” I pointed out. I felt Lysithea’s eyes on me from the end of the bar.</p><p>“Is that so?” Claude considered it for just a moment, but it was long enough for his smile to fade. “I’ll be honest with you, Byleth: there ain’t nothing in this world I’m thankful for, except for myself. I mean it.”</p><p>How does one reply to such a statement? Pity? Reassurance? Denial? Back on the ranch, Thanksgiving Eve was almost as important as Thanksgiving itself, the entire day spent prepping meals and speeches to celebrate the harvest and commemorate the hard work of all the farmhands and ranchers.</p><p>And yet, as I stared into my half-finished drink, all I could feel was <em>admiration</em>. He seemed to embody to me all that the current president meant whenever he spoke of “rugged individualism.” Dad disdained this term, pointing out that nobody could operate a ranch alone. Perhaps it was the sheer novelty of this city boy that I was drawn to; perhaps it was out of pure folly that I nodded my understanding.</p><p>“Good. You’ve got the address and date, so, see ya, By! Oh, I like that. Bye, By!” With a wink he downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, set down his glass a bit too loudly, and danced back into the crowd.</p><p>Lysithea meandered over with the pretense of taking Claude’s glass. If I were more drunk I would’ve thought I imagined what she casually said next: “If you can’t handle this, there’s no way you’d ever be able to handle that man. It’s about time you prove yourself worthy of the Golden Deer, like the rest of us had to.” Just like that she floated away to take care of other patrons’ orders.</p><p>I remained at the bar somewhat dumbly for a bit, letting the alcohol settle over me and glue me to the seat. The Ashen Wolves weren’t in tonight, so there was no chance of (avoiding? seeking?) chatting with Yuri. At some point I noticed Claude whispering in Dimitri’s ear, the latter then shooting me an unreadable look. I waved idly and he swiveled away in embarrassment, having been caught staring. Was he involved in whatever was going on next week as well? I finished my drink and decided to head back home early. No choice but to patiently wait for what would turn out to be one heck of a job screening.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>wow i love endless expo<br/>jk lookin forward to more action in a couple weeks!<br/>also, yeah, byleth is a relatively emote-y byleth in this au. for now, anyway,,,<br/>hope y'all had a good july!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. in which Byleth goes on a road trip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As I was preparing to depart for whatever secret mission Claude had planned for the night, Dad surprised me by emerging from his room and catching me by the shoulder.</p><p>“Hey, Dad, what’s cookin’?” I said coolly, trying to put on my best impression of Claude.</p><p>His eyes seemed to convey everything from concern to frustration, but when he spoke his voice was simply that of a weary old man. “I don’t know where you’ve been going out to, but I suspect it’s not exactly someplace licit based on the pains you take to be sneaky about it.”</p><p>I gulped, all courage and words drained from me.</p><p>Dad stared me down for a moment, as if burning his disappointment into my flesh. But then he asked, “Has the name ‘Vestra’ or ‘Varley’ ever come up in these spaces?”</p><p>Now I was a bit puzzled. While it was true many of the staff and associates of the Golden Deer seemed to use aliases (I made a mental note to ask Claude about it), I hadn’t heard either of those names before. The confusion must’ve showed on my face, because Dad sighed and backed off. “No,” I confirmed.</p><p>“Alright, off you go,” he said gruffly, clapping me on the back and toward the door. “Be safe.” I took a few unsteady steps before turning back to glance at him. He was still there, arms crossed, and he looked as if he would pounce at any moment to stop me in my tracks. But then he smiled—a mix of apologetic and worried—before himself exiting to return to his room. Perhaps he felt guilty for uprooting me, for my risky behavior. I was slightly unnerved, and yet I wanted to preserve that image in my mind forever.</p><p>In any case, at least for tonight I could only trust Claude to keep me safe. So off to Mott Street I went.</p><p>-</p><p>The apothecary was nestled in the crook of a winding street, an arch in the sinewy back of an eastern dragon. Just a few blocks away was Canal Street, the heart of Chinatown that hosted never-ending waves of customers at groceries and restaurants, but this section of Mott Street was empty. The neighboring stores, which sold everything from handmade silk textiles to good luck charms of questionable success, had already boarded up for the night. My destination had turned its front lights off as well; I could barely make out the name above the door, only realizing the futility of my efforts after my eyes adjusted to the dark and discovered Chinese characters on the sign. Matching the number on the wall to the thin scrawl of an address Claude had given me, I triple-checked my surroundings, took a deep breath, and entered.</p><p>What first struck me were the shelves upon shelves of glass jars labeled only in Chinese. Some held powders, some dried slices of various plants, others whole leaves, still others entire roots. Save for a curtain draping over a section of the back wall, every wall had these shelves built into them. In the middle of the room there were standalone shelves arranged in rows, which held nonperishable goods such as incense sticks and golden statues of various beings. I stubbed my toe on a large porcelain pot, shorter than knee-level, that housed a handful of goldfish with bulging eyeballs and scales of red, orange, yellow, black, and white. Nursing my foot, I gingerly inched toward the back of the store.</p><p>Felix was hunched over at a desk, a set of bifocals perched at the end of his nose. His posture mimicked an old seamstress, but upon closer examination he was skinning a ginseng root with a paring knife.</p><p>Though I approached silently, he muttered without looking up from his work, “It’s you. What do you want?” His tone, sharp as his knife, made it more of a statement of exasperation than a question.</p><p>“Is that ginseng?” I asked, inhaling deeply. It wasn’t quite fresh, but it had a pungent smell nonetheless.</p><p>Now he glanced up, meeting my eyes for just a moment. “Yes. You’ve had it before? It's unusual to find an Occidental with no fear of unfamiliar objects like this herb. You’re not from around here, are you?”</p><p><em>That’s the third time I’ve been asked this month</em>. “Sure,” I replied, “I’m from the Midwest. We’d grow it on our farm.” Even so, I couldn’t help the smile breaking across my face. “Maybe it’s one of ours.”</p><p>“Hmph. May be.” Felix set down his handiwork and leaned back in a long stretch. The incandescent lightbulbs cast his skin in gold, not far from the olive-skinned Italians in their own neighborhood just a few blocks away. Still lighter than Claude’s though… which reminded me of my reason for being here.</p><p> “But actually I’m here to… to see Claude, I guess?”</p><p>The faintest hint of a smile vanished from his face. “You’ve been trapped by his moneymaking schemes.”</p><p>“Haven’t we all, though?” Sylvain emerged from behind a curtain in the back of the cramped store. His bright hair complemented the color of the paper lanterns strung around the room.</p><p>Felix groaned, “Yes, but, if there’s still a chance to escape—"</p><p>“Ah, yes, who doesn’t dream of escaping from this awful big city into the romantic countryside?” Claude announced himself from the same entrance, twirling a polished car crank in one hand.</p><p>Behind him strode Leonie, who in contrast bore a neutral expression, until she saw me idling between Sylvain and Felix. “I vehemently object to this outlandish arrangement!” she immediately declared.</p><p>“C’mon, Leonie, you know using big words has absolutely zero effect on me. It’s nice you’re still learning by reading the newspapers though,” Claude shrugged. “Anyway, it’ll be fun! You always complain about how dangerous it is for me to go running alone, so I brought Byleth this time! And we’ll take the car.”</p><p>“Yes, but if something happens to the child of Jeralt the Code Breaker, and if <em>I’m</em> the one responsible—"</p><p>“Pardon,” I interrupted nervously, “but exactly what kind of danger does this evening outing entail?”</p><p>Leonie smacked her forehead and groaned. Sylvain guffawed, “What the hell, Claude? In what universe was it a good idea to keep secret tonight’s mission, never mind bringing a total outsider?”</p><p>“If he explained, Byleth might accidentally tell someone else,” Felix grumbled. “Or chicken out.”</p><p>I opened my mouth to protest, but Claude came to my defense almost just as quickly. “Hey, now, we were all outsiders to the industry at some point. Well, maybe not you, Sylvain, I’ll bet you were born with a widdle half-gallon bottle of whiskey clenched between your tiny baby fists.”</p><p>“Well, alcohol was still legal when I was born,” Sylvain shrugged off Claude’s joke, “so if anything, at least I got my fair share while it still tasted marginally better than dog piss.”</p><p>“Because of course you know what that tastes like,” Felix muttered. Sylvain fake-lunged for him, and the two tussled like boys in a schoolyard, Felix struggling to keep his precious ginseng out of Sylvain’s grasp.</p><p>Leonie slammed a fist on the table to recapture everyone’s attention, although the effect was undermined by the fact that she was laughing along with the boys. “Sorry, but we’re getting paid to acquire and transport said dog piss, not sit and josh around about it. Can we get a move on already?”</p><p>With that everyone headed toward the curtain in the back, so I followed obediently. As I brushed past the silk drapery I witnessed Felix jabbing a finger into Claude’s chest, muttering, “You better tell Byleth, or else both of you stay behind at the church tonight.” Claude merely waved a hand. We stepped quickly through a sparsely decorated room, the floorspace mostly taken up by two twin mattresses squished together, and then another door, which opened out to a garage thrice the size of the previous room.</p><p>An unmarked delivery truck with two tiers occupied half of it, though curiously its cargo hold was reinforced with steel and was riddled with small dents all over. Next to it was a shiny red motorcycle, the manufacturer’s name <em>Indian</em> emblazoned in gold along the fuel tank.  Claude motioned for me to follow him to a passenger car. Compared to Alois’s car it was more trapezoidal, had less passenger space, and looked ten years older. The driver’s door was black in contrast to the pale-yellow body.</p><p>“This baby’s a li’l more old-fashioned than a typical A-Model, with its fancy button ignition or whatever.” He paused, grunting with exertion while turning the crank to start its engine. “And you probably noticed I’ve recently replaced most of the windows and the door here. But it’s way faster than any Ford or even the fastest purebred racehorse. Plus it’s way more comfortable than even the nicest leather saddle.”</p><p>“Are you talking about horses because I’m from the Midwest?” I climbed onto the seat and swung the door shut. In any case the seat was made of something different to horse saddles—possibly the “imitation” leather that had started making its way around ranches, though I couldn’t be sure.</p><p>Claude laughed, stretching his hands and shaking his head. “Have some faith in me, Byleth. No, I say that because unlike most New Yorkers, I’ve actually ridden horses before. With and without saddles.”</p><p>I wanted to ask him <em>when, where, why?</em> but with a couple more rotations of the crank, the car sputtered to life and drowned out anything I might’ve said. Claude leapt into the driver’s seat before the car began rolling too far and flashed a thumbs up at someone I couldn’t see. The garage door had barely lifted an inch above the hood of the car before he shifted gears to zip outside quicker than I could hold on for dear life. Like a bellowing dragon, the roars of the engine reverberated amongst the looming flat buildings lining the streets, sure to disturb anyone who’d retired early for the evening. I was certain Claude was going at least twice as fast as Alois ever dared to drive in the city, but soon enough the skyscrapers and city police fell behind us as we left Manhattan and entered the suburban countryside.</p><p>---</p><p>We had been driving for half an hour or so, mostly spent in silence as I struggled to control my carsickness, when Claude deemed me well enough to speak. “Y’all fine ‘n dandy there, pardner?” he asked, mimicking perfectly the accent of my neighbors back home.</p><p>“Dandy, my ass,” I muttered, though somehow hearing his voice seemed to calm my stomach a bit. “How is it that your midwestern accent is better than mine? Why don’t you have a New York accent?”</p><p>Claude kept his eyes fixed on the road. “If I tell you, I might have to kill you. …Kidding! Kidding. Um. I’ll tell you after our little mission, alright? The anxiety of doing so will keep me awake on the drive back.”</p><p>“Have it your way.” I stared out the tinted window. I rolled it down momentarily for some fresh air. For the first time since I’d moved to New York, I could see the stars clearly… but it was too chilly to leave down, so back up it went.</p><p>“How ‘bout ‘chu?” Claude asked after a moment. “Where’s your accent? You sound as bland as a Californian. No, scratch that; Sylvain and Felix have sexier accents than you, and they were born there. Did they force you to erase your pretty little ‘y’alls’ and ‘opes’ in grade school or something?”</p><p>I wanted to punch him the shoulder but refrained out of fear of making him drive off-course into a tree or something. “No, I never went to school. Dad thought it was a waste of time to sit inside all day.”</p><p>“You lucky duck.” He had on a half-grin, half-grimace. “Your father, then? He’s a New Yorker, i’nt he?”</p><p>I frowned and thought for a moment. “It’s true Dad worked there for years, but I actually haven’t a clue as to where he himself grew up. And none of our farmhands had the accent you copy so well either.”</p><p>“That so? Where were the farmhands from, then?”</p><p>“Oh, all over. Some only stuck around for a season, others stayed with us for years.” A smile crept onto my face as I began to remember their faces and voices. “Dad didn’t care what their backgrounds were, as long as they could lend a hand. Irishmen, Germans, Mexicans, Cajuns, Chinamen, a buncha Freedmen too… The nosier neighbors called us ‘the Rez’ because we had a lot of colored folk, though I think only one of them was a real Indian. Most Indians were, yannow, forced further out west.”</p><p>“A real Indian, huh?” he wondered, more to himself it seemed. After a moment, “Well, I guess that explains a lot about you.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“Well, to be honest,” Claude began, and paused to chew on his lip. “I was very intrigued by, and maybe a little bit suspicious about, how you seem like a, uh, sensitive soul, and yet you were totally unfazed by the scenes at both the Ashen Wolves and the Golden Deer. And also how, when we first met…”</p><p>I looked over, but he was staring straight ahead. It was several minutes later when he spoke again.</p><p>“Take a smoke?” He opened the glove compartment and pointed at a few loose cigarettes and a lighter.</p><p>“Thank you, but I don’t use it,” I answered. Dad may not have taken good care of his liver, but he certainly knew and instilled in me the value of a strong, clean pair of lungs for working the fields.</p><p>He closed the compartment with a flick of his wrist. “Ah, neither do I,” he followed up, a bit delayed.</p><p>Another lapse of silence passed us by. New Jersey gave way to Pennsylvania at some imagined border.</p><p>“Say, Byleth,” he began, pausing when the car lurched over some crag in the road. “Are you truly unbothered by the <em>de jure</em> illict nature of the Golden Deer and the <em>de facto</em> illicit nature of the House?”</p><p>I shook my head. “No,” I stated, remembering he was driving.</p><p>“Why is that?”</p><p>Why, indeed? “I never quite understood the purpose of illegalizing these sorts of things. They’re just recreational activities, drinking and clubbing, aren’t they? The only folks getting hurt are the ones getting arrested by the police. And I must admit, I still don’t understand what ‘decent folk’ entails.”</p><p>“I’m delighted to find myself in good company,” Claude remarked airily.</p><p>Another several miles of silence.</p><p>“Why?” The word slipped off my tongue like a dewdrop off a leaf.</p><p>“Why’d I ask?” he wanted to clarify.</p><p>“No, that’s not it,” I affirmed. Searching for the right words, “Why do you run the speakeasy?”</p><p>“Well, for one, I haven’t had to lay anyone off even though we’re in the throes of a great depression.” The car slowed to a crawl. I glanced at him, only to find him staring ardently in my direction. Blushing, I followed his gaze out the window, toward the night sky. “Tell me, how do you find the North Star?”</p><p>“The North Star?” I strained my eyes through the window, forgetting that I could and did roll it down. The sensation of squinting at the sky suddenly dislodged a decade-old memory: one of our farmhands, older than Dad yet still going strong, cradling me on his lap on the porch of our farmhouse as we waited for Dad to return from some town meeting or another. He was humming a faint melody, like a lullaby… “…follow the drinking gourd,” the words escaped as if it were the farmhand himself singing through me.</p><p>A flash of surprise, of recognition, crossed his face for just a moment, the twinkle of a star. Catching himself then, “It really is the same North Star shining down upon all of us, isn’t it? And to it, even though we give it different names and meanings, from up there we probably all look the same down here.”</p><p>I caught his eye briefly, a glint of emerald, before he turned away and began driving in earnest again.</p><p>“Institutions like the U.S. government, the NYPD, the Church, American universities and their humdrum professors,” he began, “they’re all supposed to serve their people, or some greater cause like justice, or the truth. And yet, they keep churning out these laws and theories that make me wonder, time and again, whose interests do they serve, and whose don’t even figure? Whose lives are at stake this time? There are laws that say certain people can’t marry and have babies because of the way they look, as if they’re livestock rather than breathing, loving humans. Or scientific studies that pathologize the homosexual, psychiatrize the bisexual, naturalize the heterosexual. Or church sermons that claim that all other religions are breeding grounds for bedeviled heathens. All that malarkey. People like us—” and he looked at me again “—have got nowhere to go, no one who’s got our back. The speakeasy started as a safe haven with all this in mind. And I guess there’s a small, twelve-year-old part of me that still believes that someday, when I finally have enough money and power, earned through my own blood, sweat, and tears no less, that maybe I’ll be able to show my face again in the overworld, face off against all those bootlicking elites of society, and maybe, just maybe, start to make real change. So that someday people can drink and party and hang out and make love with each other in the open instead of underground.”</p><p>I sat awestruck for a moment. And yet, as the car light glinted off of a road sign I couldn’t help but remember the flashing police lights that evoked not security, but fear in whole neighborhoods and peoples. “Do you really think someday we’ll be able to achieve a more equal society?” I had to know.</p><p>He answered with more conviction than I’d expected. “What separates human beings from each other is not what resources we’re born with, where our families came from, or how we choose to make ends meet. It’s ignorance. Ignorance is the wall that separates us, and sometimes people build those walls with their own hands, and call them all sorts of things like race, class, sex, you name it. And ignorance of difference turns into fear, and then war. In order to save lives, we don’t need more laws or theories or what have you. What we need is to tear down all these walls, and that’s what I’m going to do.”</p><p>He turned away and continued on driving as if nothing happened, and I felt that the subsequent pause was an expectant one—no kidding, after one heck of a monologue, and a moving one at that.</p><p>So I said the first thing that came to mind: “I’ll help you, Claude.”</p><p>A wistful smile appeared. “You know, someone I’ve known for a very long time said that to me once.”</p><p>“And then?” This time I realized too late that this pause had no logical follow-up.</p><p>He gave me the courtesy of a response: “And then nothing. That person and I… couldn’t agree on how.”</p><p>How what? I wanted to ask, but he seemed like he’d retreated into a shell. When Claude remained silent for a bit too long I looked over at him. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, his lips a thin line, that eagerness to share suddenly gone. I shouldn’t have asked, I chastised myself, but I knew that too was of no use. In any case I knew I needed to make this tension dissipate somehow.</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t intend to bring up any bad memories.” I received only a noncommittal shrug. Talk about something else, Byleth… “It’s quite nice to see all these leaves so red and yellow. Central Park is a dump compared to these forests. Fall’s actually my favorite season.”</p><p>“Is it now?” he replied, sounding a bit faraway. “I myself am partial to summer.”</p><p>Still awkward… I gazed upward at the Big Dipper. One of our farmhands—in fact, the “real” Indian that had briefly piqued Claude’s interest—told us a story about the base being the bear, and the three trailing stars human hunters, running high in springtime and coming down low enough in the autumn that they splattered the trees red with blood. Dad had laughed at that, while I, only a child, was mortified. Suddenly inspired, I blurted out, “Did you know Dad once singlehandedly wrestled a bear?”</p><p>“No kidding!” Claude’s eyes finally crinkled in delight. “Alright then, spin that yarn for me, my friend.”</p><p>I grinned at the North Star, taking a deep breath of the fresh autumn air, completely free of smog and ash. Something inside my chest soared at the revelation that this was perhaps the first time he’d called me<em> friend</em>. “So around this time of year would be when the traveling circus came to our town…”</p><p>---</p><p>Before I knew it we’d come to a full stop. Illuminated in the car headlights was a small church, a weeping cherry tree bowing gracefully over the entrance.  Felix and Sylvain’s truck and Leonie’s motorbike, now with a sidecar attached, were parked haphazardly ‘round the back. I could hear water lapping gently at the shores of a river, branching off to either side. If I strained my ears, I could hear an ethereal humming emanating from the church—someone was playing an organ, but it was too late at night for a service.</p><p>At the edge of a brick path stood Mercedes, wearing a bewitching white dress to the effect of appearing like a ghost or spirit. She tilted her head in mild puzzlement as her eyes landed upon me.</p><p>“Welcome, Claude. You’re late as usual. And you’re Claude’s guest from the Golden Deer; Byleth, was it?” She curtsied, then began leading us down the path to the church. “Thank you for joining us tonight.”</p><p>I glanced at Claude, but he strode boldly forward to loop his arm through Mercedes’s and proceed toward the church like a partygoer arriving fashionably late. No questions asked, I supposed was the deal, though as soon as we walked in I would be proven quite wrong.</p><p>A small company had already gathered within, and I remembered Claude’s epithet of “some of the most important people I’ve ever met” from my first night at the Golden Deer. Felix and Sylvain must have somehow passed us on the drive over, for they were now seated at a round table, with Ingrid mediating their arguing. Mercedes left our side to rejoin Dimitri and Marianne, who, outside of the limelight of the Golden Deer, were sitting much closer to each other, Marianne tenderly brushing her ghostlike fingers against his forearm. Ignatz confirmed my suspicions of the organ, though now that we were inside I was able to discern that he was simply practicing scales. Leonie sat slightly off to the side, polishing a… gun?</p><p>“What took you two so long?” she demanded immediately upon seeing us enter.</p><p>“Easy!” Claude shouted, stopping in his tracks with his hands raised. “Gun pointed downward, <em>please</em>.”</p><p>She huffed, stowing her pistol in a holster at her side. “Well, you better not be slowing me—us—down. I received a tip-off from Yuri that there might be… heightened activity tonight.”</p><p>Belatedly Dimitri stood erect, Mercedes having to catch his chair from falling in the process. “Byleth!” he exclaimed, though not out of excitement. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company tonight?”</p><p>Claude draped an arm around my shoulders, and because I instinctively cast my eyes downward, I noted with slight amusement that he had to slightly tiptoe to do so comfortably. “Actually, it was on my invitation, so don’t get your knickers all up in a tizzy. I wanted to show Byleth your, uh, family farm.”</p><p>“It’s not mine,” he muttered. I looked up to see him looking down, our roles reversed. But then he made direct eye contact with me, his expression unreadable. “Do what you please, Claude, not that anyone could ever stop you. But know that the burden of any unexpected consequences will be yours to carry.”</p><p>“Such serious words, Dimitri. That almost sounds like a threat.” Claude released me. But, sensing the atmosphere growing heavy, he then added, “Don’t tell me you speak to Marianne with that mouth!”</p><p>Dimitri moved to protest, but a quiet giggle stopped him in his tracks. Marianne covered her mouth almost coquettishly as everyone’s eyes flew to her. In response she only tugged gently at Dimitri’s sleeve, asking him to sit back down. His visage now gained a rosy hue as he obliged, though whether out of embarrassment or fondness remained unclear.</p><p>Claude himself seemed quite charmed by his dear friend, until she wheeled herself to directly face and reprimand him. “The fact remains, however, that you <em>were</em> quite late, and while I suppose we can make an exception for Byleth’s presence tonight, I think it would be disgraceful for you to use that as your excuse. Furthermore, I think it is quite unfair of you to keep your guest in the dark like this.”</p><p>“Didn’t you say you were gonna outline the whole plan on the ride over?” Leonie accused.</p><p>Claude’s expression only confirmed everyone else’s apparent suspicions. Ingrid had to grab Leonie’s arm to keep her from stomping over, while Dimitri ran a hand through his hair muttering to himself about being stuck with someone like Claude as the leader of these complex operations.</p><p>“Okay, sheesh, maybe I forgot,” Claude finally conceded to quiet everyone down, “but maybe I just wanted to take some time to get to know Byleth a little bit better before kickstarting yet another one of the most dangerous nights of our lives, like any prince would and should. You would know, Dimitri.”</p><p>Having been called out, Dimitri scowled in response to Claude’s cheeky grin, though Sylvain’s snickering attracted the bulk of his irritation. Meanwhile I wasn’t sure if the night had suddenly grown cold, but I was definitely having trouble processing those words, feeling a shiver run down my spine.</p><p>“Anyway, I promise I’ll explain everything to Byleth right after this, so y’all quit heckling me for a hot second, alright? But Marianne’s right; the night is aging faster than our illicit beverages ever will. And I’m sure Leonie’s been chomping at the bit for literal weeks. So, uh, Ignatz, you still good to go?”</p><p>Ignatz hopped off the organ bench with a “yessir!” and a spring in his step, while Leonie only rolled her eyes and strolled toward the door, trying to control her urge to sprint. Marianne and Mercedes bowed their heads in prayer for us as we left. I thought I saw Dimitri whip out a cigarette to offer Ingrid, though all the while he avoided eye contact with me. Felix and Sylvain came out with us to examine the truck.</p><p>Before I could even say anything, Leonie was straddling the motorbike and revving the engine. Poor Ignatz had just barely clambered into the side car when she zoomed away, veering off the pavement and onto a beaten path through the forest. The scene was worthy of a motion picture, one with a synchronized soundtrack and all. Felix and Sylvain, meanwhile, seemed in no hurry to leave.</p><p>Claude must have caught me slightly gaping at Leonie and Ignatz’s hasty exit. He stooped to crank up the car again and said, “Don’t worry, we won’t be following them. I care too much about my car to do that.”</p><p>I offered only a halfhearted chuckle, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. Claude beckoned for us to get in said car, and soon the church and its occupants disappeared from the rearview mirror. I wondered if I should point out that his headlights weren’t on, but he seemed to be navigating fine just by relying on his memory and on the light of the full moon. All I could do was trust him.</p><p>“So here’s the deal: the two most important points on our map tonight are the Blue Lion—the aforementioned family farm—and the little Lutheran church we were just at. As you just witnessed, Leonie and Ignatz have flown on ahead, taking the road less traveled by to the Blue Lion to receive some precious cargo. Leonie comes from a family of fishmongers and Ignatz from a bourgeois merchant family, but so together they complete the first step of this operation: transporting our products, by chartered riverboat no less, from the farm to the church via the Delaware River.”</p><p>“What sort of cargo? What are Felix and Sylvain doing with the truck?” I queried.</p><p>“Ah yes, so that’s the second step of the operation. Once the riverboat reaches the church, the goods will move onto land. Ingrid always drives, since she’s the only one capable of handling the majestic beast that is a truck filled to the brim, and Felix and Sylvain are basically on guard duty from the church back to the Golden Deer Speakeasy, where Raphael and Hilda will receive them and offload the goods. I should note that technically Dimitri, Mercedes, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid are primarily affiliated with the Blue Lion, owned by the Prince, and only secondarily with the Golden Deer, owned by yours truly.”</p><p>I frowned. “Guard duty? For what? And what are we doing then?”</p><p>“You’re lucky you never went to school, Byleth. Teachers hate students who ask too many questions,” Claude grinned, though his eyes were stern. “So… this is what I’ve been keeping from you. You might’ve guessed that this line of work is dangerous, and, I mean, it is, but I promise I’ll keep you safe.”</p><p>Trying not to fidget, I replied, “That’s both very reassuring and not at all,” eliciting a wry smile from him.</p><p>He kept his gaze fixed on the road before us as he spoke evenly. “Our job is to trail Leonie and Ignatz both ways and… take care of any unwanted guests.”</p><p>I interjected, “And who are these unwanted guests? The police?” I almost hoped it was the case.</p><p>Claude sighed, apparently sharing the same sentiment. “If only. Then things would honestly be a lot easier. Ever since Chief Aegir took over, the police force has devolved into a gaggle of bumbling fools... But I digress. No, Byleth, we’re talking folks from rival speakeasies who are equally as experienced with bootlegging, some made fiercer by their indebtedness to crime syndicates. God knows the Gloucester gang would be all too happy to shoot my lovely Golden Deer on sight.”</p><p>Crime syndicates and gangs? Shooting deer? “So Leonie and Ignatz are—"</p><p>“Don’t worry about those two.” Claude flashed a side-smile. “By motorbike they’re unstoppable, so right now we’re mainly keeping an eye out for anybody attempting to follow them, because the location of the Blue Lion happens to be a trade secret. But after the riverboat sets off, they’re basically sitting ducks if they get ambushed from the forest along the riverbank. So that’s where we come in.”</p><p>“Come in and do what?” I had to ask, though as soon as I did I desperately didn’t want to know.</p><p>The car rolled over a large branch, sending us lurching backwards as the car’s shock absorbers protested in metallic groans. I thought perhaps Claude hadn’t heard my question, but then he let out a deep sigh.</p><p>“Hunt them down,” he said simply, quietly. I thought perhaps he wished to give a different answer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>aaa it's been a weird couple weeks, having had a near week-long power/internet outage plus various health issues new &amp; old, and also tomorrow i'm moving to a different city! even so, hope you enjoyed this chapter &amp; see you again w ch5 (&amp; our 2 remaining lions) on the 28th!</p><p>also, apologies for the clumsy vehicle descriptions! in my mind the delivery truck is a repurposed grocery truck (see: http://picturethis.museumca.org/pictures/chinese-man-drives-signal-delivery-truck-company-chew-hing-fresh-fruit-and-vegetables-throu ), leonie drives a bright red 1930 indian chief + sidecar, &amp; claude drives an old 1919 moon victory.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. in which Byleth receives a souvenir</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw for gun violence</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’m not sure how much longer we drove, mostly in silence. I could only tell that we were gradually gaining altitude, forests rising on looming hills and mountains. The road too, while remaining parallel to, also rose above the river, whose currents grew in ferocity the further north we drove. At some point Claude gestured at something in the distance and called it the Delaware Water Gap, but in the darkness the geography had no salience. And this rugged environment definitely did not seem conducive for farming.</p><p>Eventually we reached what appeared to be a sizable cabin, where a young-looking white man was waiting on the patio. At the sound of the tires crunching along the gravel path, he leapt up and dashed indoors. As Claude and I went to make our way up the rickety stairs, a large African American man emerged from the house to greet—or just glare at—us. Although his hair was completely white and his face wrinkled from long years in the sun, he was built nearly as sturdily as Raphael. His collared shirt even sported the same signs of fabric wear and tear around the elbows and reinforced button stitches.</p><p>He nodded at Claude but squinted at me. “Who’s this?”</p><p>“Glad to see you too, Dedue,” Claude grinned, reassuming his jovial self like shrugging on a well-worn coat. “Byleth here is doing a trial run of today’s mission. Under my careful supervision, of course.”</p><p>Dedue narrowed his eyes, but then the younger man popped out from behind him. In contrast to Dedue, his skin was quite pale, uncharacteristic for a farmhand, I noted with more curiosity than suspicion. Under the glow from the porch lamp, his freckles were like constellations splayed across his face. Smiling knowingly, he said, “Hey, y’all. The name’s Ashe. I help run the, uh, farm, with good ol’ Dedue here.”</p><p>“How did you come to work together?” I asked out of pure interest, missing Claude’s side-eye.</p><p>Ashe obliged though, answering with a story. “Long ago, before the Civil War, my grandparents in Dallas helped Dedue’s grandparents escape to Tulsa, where they established their own business. But then a decade ago, Dedue lost his family to that race massacre… Dimitri, who was doing business there at the time, took Dedue in, asked him to work here, and eventually ceded the land to him. As for me, well…”</p><p>“He wrote to me a few years ago,” Dedue filled in, “asking for work and a place to stay, to take some burden off his own family, who’d fallen to hard times.” A smile tugged at the edges of his lips as he added teasingly, “And asking to learn how to grow into someone’s knight in shining armor someday.”</p><p>“Dedue, that last part of the letter was private!” Ashe laughed, more joyful at the memory than admonishing for the reveal. “I reckon we’re already halfway there though, being moonshiners and all.”</p><p>“Moonshiners?” I echoed stupidly. Suddenly everything clicked into place. Damn Claude for making me figure out all this shit on my own. I even saw him grinning widely to himself out of the corner of my eye.</p><p>“Uh… that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Ashe inquired, now perplexed. Dedue began to frown.</p><p>I glanced at Claude, who merely raised an eyebrow at me, that wily bastard. “Yeah, of course, uh, sorry, still trying to get a hang of East Coast terminology. Back where I’m from we mostly called you folks, um, homebrewers or bootleggers. Or moonshine was known as bathtub gin. Stuff like that, yannow.”</p><p>Beside me Claude transformed a snicker into a conveniently-timed sneeze, but Ashe seemed to buy my argument and nodded agreeably, which seemed to reassure Dedue at the very least. “Yessir, I get it, it certainly is difficult adapting to new environments. Where’re you originally from, by the way?”</p><p>“Hard to imagine a ‘coon like him picking up someone as honest-lookin’ as you,” Dedue added. I couldn’t tell whom he was jabbing at, though more likely than not it was at the both of us being there together.</p><p>“Um, I’m from the Midwest,” I answered. “I’m actually not entirely sure what state, exactly. But I think we drove through Pennsylvania to get to New York actually.”</p><p>“Ah, that explains it,” Ashe nodded with a serious expression. “Perhaps you two felt some sort of… midwestern affinity for each other. Even though Dimitri and the other Blue Lions are all kind people, Dedue and I sometimes feel out of place, since we’re both southerners and they’re from the Coasts.”</p><p>“Midwestern affinity?” I looked at him curiously. “No way. Claude is too cocky, he tries to pick up strangers, and, worst of all, he talks way too fast. He’s a New Yorker, through and through.”</p><p>Claude was about to interject, but a puzzled Dedue cut in sooner. “New Yorker? But aren’t you from—"</p><p>A foghorn blared from the river. Leaning over the patio railing, I caught sight of a sizable steamboat, so weighted down with boxes and crates that its deck was nearly level with the water’s surface. I couldn’t see Leonie or Ignatz, but a single floodlight aimed toward us flashed on and off in rapid succession.</p><p>“Run… the… rum… question mark?” I didn’t realize I spoke aloud until Claude whistled his admiration.</p><p>Ashe elbowed me in the side. “Wow, you’re pretty good! How’d you learn to do that so fast?”</p><p>I remembered Dad telling tales of working as a cryptographer in American overseas wars shortly before I was born, playing games with me as I ran around in the fields at night looking for the flicker of his flashlight, making up secret code languages, later using a few of them to help some of our migrant laborers escape further north or west. We never asked why or where, but we never got caught either.</p><p>“My dad thought it was fun,” I answered simply. Claude’s lips perked upward but he remained silent.</p><p>“Well?” Dedue said, lifting a large floodlight from the patio corner with only one hand.</p><p>Ashe chuckled lightheartedly. “What Dedue means is, ‘As much as it’s been a delight having you here for the evening, aren’t y’all fixin’ to be on your merry way?’”</p><p>“Of course, we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Claude replied perfunctorily, but he didn’t budge, checking to see I myself was ready to go. When I nodded back at him, then he began making his way toward the porch staircase. Dedue raised the light and flashed a quick <em>RUN</em> back at the riverboat waiting below.</p><p>“Thanks for visiting the Blue Lion Brewery,” Ashe called after us. “Apologies we don’t have any nice souvenirs for you, but y’all’re always welcome to stop by again. Drive safely down now, alright?”</p><p> “Next time, though, guests must be approved of ahead of time,” Dedue grumbled, waving us away.</p><p>I wondered if, and hoped that there would be, a ‘next time.’ Watching Claude striding confidently before me to begin our journey home, and Ashe and Dedue fade into the background behind me, somehow I felt that the more time I spent with him, the less I knew about him. And that only made me want more.</p><p>---</p><p>We were about halfway back to the Church, me nearly drifting off to sleep, when Claude suddenly accelerated past a sharp corner in the river, leaving Leonie and Ignatz far behind us. We then slowed down at the other end of the bend, and he shut off the engine and car lights.</p><p>“This is the most dan—crucial, important, significant part of the journey,” Claude said breezily. “That hook in the river we just passed? From the riverboat’s point of view, Belvidere’s the biggest blind spot between the Blue Lion and the church. It’s also where the Pequot River flows into the Delaware, but since it’s not a commercially viable river, we don’t usually have to worry about anyone coming for our goods through that route. Although, I wouldn’t put it past New Jersey to secretly have pirates.”</p><p>A few miles south I thought I could make out the dim lights of a small town, but otherwise we seemed to be parked in the middle of a forest. I hadn’t even noticed Claude go off-road. He ostentatiously yawned.</p><p>“You seem rather relaxed,” I commented. “What’re you gonna do, take a nap before the long trip back?”</p><p>“Well, no, this is the one place where we gotta stay awake,” he replied, lowering his window. “But don’t worry; nothing ever really happens. You can take a nap if you’d like. You were almost asleep anyway.”</p><p>I huffed with indignation, then realized I was acting like a child. “I thought Leonie said Yuri said… ah, never mind. So do we just sit here and wait to make sure the boat safely passes, and then keep going?”</p><p>Claude reached over and ruffled my hair, much to my irritation. “You’re a fast learner!” he smirked. “Roll down your window, will you?” Before I could protest, he’d exited the car, so I followed suit. As he begun stretching his limbs, he also leaned over to open the rear door of the car and open its window, and then crawled over the seat to reach the lever for the other car’s window. I guessed he was airing out the car.</p><p>I decided to make my way over to his side of the car, savoring the crunch of autumn leaves below my feet. I was surprised at how much noise they seemed to make. Either I’d gotten heavier or I was plowing through literal inches of leaves. But it was November, after all; though this year it had been unusually hot within the city limits, most of the leaves across the East Coast had already fallen by now. I inhaled deeply the smell of the dried leaves, littered all along the earth, red, like blood…</p><p>“Shit! Get down!” Claude grabbed my arm and nearly threw me onto the ground. I couldn’t see a thing; all I could hear was something akin to the sound of raindrops violently hammering against a tin roof in a thunderstorm, and the ceaseless whiz of air being sliced in two above our heads.</p><p>I heard the cock of a gun next to me, and Claude rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’ll wanna cover your ears for this, my friend.” I obliged, soon realizing for very good reason.</p><p><em>BAM!</em> Claude fired his rifle, using the windowsill to support its barrel. The deafening crack was quickly followed by a human cry. In the blink of an eye he’d retrieved another bullet (from where, his pocket?), encased in copper and nearly three inches long, and reloaded, not even flinching when the spent casing grazed his cheek. He fired off two, three, four more powerful rounds, each one sending tremors through the car. I squeezed my eyes shut but the bright flares pierced my vision like lightning, the blasts thundered through my body, the screams of their victims all too quiet in comparison. There was a series of rhythmless thumps, almost like the sound of acorns or pinecones falling to the ground.</p><p>As the echoes of the last shot faded, so did those of the peppering noises, and the forest was filled with an eerie silence. I had never seen anyone reload a rifle so quickly; there never was any need for it, when hunting wild animals. On that note… I recognized the weapon in his hands. It was a Winchester 94, and that kind of rifle, while perfect for dense forests, was made for deer and bison—not humans.</p><p>“Now you understand why loud places don’t bother me, eh?” Claude probably wasn’t aware that he was shouting slightly, as he helped me to my feet. “Tell me if you notice anyone else, ‘cause God knows I wouldn’t be able to hear them right now.”</p><p>Claude escorted me to my side of the car. I watched Claude’s form before me step gingerly, becoming increasingly aware of twigs crunching beneath his feet as his hearing gradually returned. The blare of the riverboat’s foghorn felt faint and almost carefree as it lethargically chugged past us. I wanted to run, to drive away as fast as possible, yet I felt heavier than an anchor. I watched Claude wait, hesitate another ten minutes or so, and I took the time to sweep bullets off the car seats and roll the windows back up.</p><p>Finally he decided it was safe to crank up the engine and we buckled ourselves into our seats. But we didn’t drive. Listening to the engine stall and the headlights hum, I thought of that night at the Ashen Wolves. I thought of the hunted bear in the sky, its blood spilling out like crimson flowers onto the trees.</p><p>“…you okay there, Byleth?” he asked, his voice more tentative than I would’ve expected.</p><p>I let a moment pass before breaking into tears. “No… no… they wanted to kill us, didn’t they…”</p><p>I heard the click of a seatbelt unbuckling, and then his arms wrapping around me, pulling me into his embrace and rubbing my back as my chest heaved. I laid my head on his shoulder and felt him suppress a cringe. It was the same shoulder that took the multiple recoils of his hunting rifle.</p><p>“…and you killed them…” I murmured. He froze momentarily, but when I grabbed at his shirt he resumed rubbing gentle circles into my back. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but he held me firmly, gently, until eventually the sobs wracking my body subsided.</p><p>After a moment, “Maybe you oughta ask Yuri next time for a part-time job, huh?” he attempted to joke.</p><p>“Why did you bring me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.</p><p>He sighed through his nose. Then, after digging around for something in the back seat, he dropped what looked like a mini telescope into my lap. “I wanted you to be my spotter.”</p><p>Spotter? I now understood it to be a spotting scope, but it was much larger than any that I’d ever seen used out on the open plains. This one was four, nearly five inches long—a military-grade scope.</p><p>“You seem pretty good on your own,” I replied absentmindedly. “If only I wasn’t making so much noise.”</p><p>He seemed uneasy. “It was a close call,” he countered. “Literally they got too close… I messed up.”</p><p>“Wait,” I realized, “what do you mean, ‘wanted’? I can spot. I’ve done it for my dad before. And… I promise I won’t, um. I won’t cry again. I just wasn’t expecting… but now I know. I’ll be your spotter.”</p><p>He maintained eye contact with me, searching for any signs of doubt. “Alright then,” he finally accepted. “And in turn I promise I’ll keep you safe. You don’t have to worry about a thing when you’re with me.”</p><p>But I shook my head vehemently, strength slowly returning to me as I recalled Lysithea’s warning. “No, I… I can shoot, too. Please, Claude. I want to do more. You’ve saved my life. Twice now, actually.”</p><p>His eyes widened in shock. “That’s a serious proposition there, my friend.” I sat, resolute, and he sighed. “You should know that every member of the Golden Deer, everyone who has one of these cards in their pockets—” he tapped his breast “—has killed a man on its behalf. Even Ignatz, our lovely piano man. In any case, if you want to survive in the belly of the beast that is New York City, you will too, eventually.”</p><p>I clenched my fists. I wouldn’t let Claude risk his life for me a third time, or give Dad any reason to worry.</p><p>“…Here.” Claude felt along the floor of the driver’s compartment, coming up with a pistol and slipping it onto my lap. Its steel was a grim royal blue, sporting a chestnut wood handle smoothed over by time. “This will be your new fighting companion. Learn its weight, its surfaces, its contours, its firing time.”</p><p>“Is this yours?” I asked naively. His only response was to look away. I ventured again, “What’s it called?”</p><p>He turned back but stared only at the pistol. “It’s officially a Model 1908 Vest Pocket, but I just call it a Colt .25 for its cartridge. But yes, if you’re wearing a suit you can easily conceal it in the vest pocket.”</p><p>“Good to know.” I let it rest in my palms. It was just about as heavy as a can of Campbell’s tomato soup. “Don’t worry, Claude. Dad and I practiced sharpshooting on deer and doves out west. Moving targets.”</p><p>Claude suddenly barked a harsh laugh. “I really am making you a murderer, aren’t I?” Before I could answer he revved the engine, for the second time drowning out anything I could’ve said, and drove off.</p><p>---</p><p>“Are you alright, Claude?” Dimitri inquired, offering a forearm to help him out of the car. I watched Claude’s hand waver slightly, before accepting his aid and grabbing onto his arm for balance.</p><p>On my side Marianne extended a petite hand as well, more out of courtesy than aid. “You seem pale as well,” she remarked, which would have been more ironic were it not for the solemnity of her words.</p><p>I heard grass rustling, the sound of someone running over, and both Claude and I whipped around only to find Mercedes hurrying toward us. Behind her Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid were loading the delivery truck with the goods from Leonie and Ignatz’s riverboat, moored just out of sight behind the church.</p><p>“Oh dear,” she gasped, running a hand over the frame of Claude’s car. Then, turning to Claude, as if requesting tomorrow’s weather report, she asked, “Do you have an estimate of how many bodies?”</p><p>He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Four, I’d wager, but don’t sweat it if you only find three.”</p><p>“Duly noted,” she replied sweetly. “Thank you for your hard work tonight.” She curtsied, briefly clasped one of my hands in hers to squeeze lightly, and returned indoors.</p><p>Dimitri seemed just about to interrogate me when Claude said quietly, “There’s something you need to know. You don’t have to listen if you don’t want, Marianne. You should get some rest.”</p><p>The specterlike woman beside me shook her head to indicate she was staying. “Tell us,” she gently implored. “What happened over there? I can understand Byleth feeling shaken up, but Claude, too?”</p><p>Claude stared at his feet, wondering how best to phrase his words. In my selfishness I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and tell him he wasn’t guilty of anything, that he’d done his best and protected me, but then he finally responded.</p><p>“The perps that were after us this time… Their weapons easily outmatched my rifle.” He distractedly rubbed at his shoulder. “It was pure luck, and maybe a dash of incoordination or panic on their end, that we made it out unscathed. …I think they had tommy guns. Definitely lots of ammo.”</p><p>Marianne’s knuckles were white with how tightly she was gripping her armrests. “You don’t mean…”</p><p>Claude shook his head. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions and act rashly, but we can’t rule them out either. Hopefully Mercedes will be able to do a bit of ID work when she and Jeritza retrieve the bodies.”</p><p>On cue the door to the church’s side garage opened, and a black, nondescript funeral coach emerged. As it whipped past us and toward the direction Claude and I came from, I saw Mercedes in the shotgun seat and a man with long, flowing white hair and wearing red and black pastor’s robes.</p><p>“Are you certain they weren’t from the Gloucester Gang?” Marianne asked timidly. “Because if so, I could venture a discussion with Lorenz about it…”</p><p>“Unfortunately, I highly doubt it,” Claude smirked. “Even if they were somehow able to get their hands on that level of weaponry, I know Lorenz pretends to hate our guts, but that gang doesn’t shoot to kill.”</p><p>An uncomfortable silence settled over us like a lead blanket. I tried to keep my knees from shaking.</p><p>Dimitri broke the silence, stating, “I’ll inform Dedue and Ashe to take the appropriate precautions, and I’ll have our trio of clowns do some investigative work in the city. Didn’t Leonie mention something…?”</p><p>“Right, she said Yuri received a tip, but that was it.” Claude shrugged, as if trying to lighten the load on his shoulders. “I’ll have a chat with him when we get back. He oughta know something or another.”</p><p>Dimitri nodded. “The Blue Lions will wrap up our end of things and check in with Leonie and Ignatz. So you two hurry home and don’t worry about us. As always, thank you for your service, Claude. And you, Byleth…” His sapphire eyes landed on me. “Every choice is yours and yours alone to make. But know that the Blue Lions have your back, just as much as the Golden Deer do.”</p><p>The two gentlemen shook hands, and Claude and I watched as Dimitri and Marianne returned, side by side, to the safety of the church. Soon after the delivery truck rumbled away, Ingrid at the wheel and Felix in the shotgun seat. As the truck turned its rear to us we saw Sylvain perched at its end, nestled among the boxes of alcohol. He shifted his own rifle to his other hand to give us a cheery wave goodbye.</p><p>“Claude?” My voice was small.</p><p>“What is it?” he answered, moving toward the car.  </p><p>It was already routine for me to buckle myself in while Claude started cranking up the engine up front. The familiarity, though short in duration, was mildly pleasant. “Who do you think they were?”</p><p>The car sputtered to life, and Claude got in and strapped his seatbelt. “Just based on the tommy guns, if my suspicions are correct—and I hope to the heavens above that they aren’t—then it’s the Mafia.”</p><p>“The Mafia?” I tilted my head to look at him. “I thought they were… you know, supportive of this stuff.”</p><p>“They are,” he replied solemnly. “And they’re the last people you wanna fight with in a shootout. They’ll always win the preceding arms race in any case. So if they’ve really turned on us… then we’re fucked.”</p><p>---</p><p>Another hour of driving had passed in a pensive silence, all the landmarks and fenced pastures blending into each other, when Claude suddenly announced, “Let’s stop here for a sec,” and veered off the road, bouncing our heads against the headrests. “Oops, sorry. But not sorry, because this is totally worth it.”</p><p>Quickly surveying the surroundings—no signs of human life besides Claude, jittery beside me—I saw we had stopped at a pond, so still that I could make out the Big Dipper and other asterisms in its reflection.</p><p>I saw Claude do the same visual sweep of the area before stepping out of the car. “Here’s where I agree with you that autumn’s the best. In the spring and summer this pond is just teeming with mayflies and mosquitoes, and in the winter it obviously freezes over. Right now, though… everything’s just right.”</p><p>We ambled down a gentle slope, stopping a few feet from the shore. Claude plopped down and sprawled out on the grass, limbs pointing in every direction, as if he were in his own bedroom. I more gingerly followed suit, listening to him exhale a long breath from his nose. When I settled down as comfortably as possible on the uneven terrain, I turned my gaze upward and couldn’t help but gasp. Away from both forest and city, the stars shone as brightly as back home on the ranch. I could even see the purple hues of the Milky Way. The bear and its hunters were surrounded by a whole ecosystem.</p><p>“Does it remind you of home?” Claude whispered. His eyes glittered like emeralds as he turned to face me. “This is my secret place. But I’m sharing it with you because it reminds me of home, too.”</p><p>I nodded, awestruck. I vaguely remembered wanting to ask him about his origins a few hours ago, but in this moment, I found I was afraid. If I said anything, would he withdraw again? In the grass his hand brushed against mine, light as a feather.</p><p>“Claude,” I ventured. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but… Where are you really from?”</p><p>“Illinois,” he said blandly, almost as if he’d been waiting for me to ask, but he turned his face away. So I turned away too, in case he was feeling the pressure of my gaze on him. And after a pause, filled only with the trills of frogs and crickets, he continued, “I grew up in the countryside. I don’t remember much, probably because I was bullied all the time at school, by classmates and teachers alike. Of course my parents brushed it off and told me to fight for myself. And I learned how to fight for my life, fiercer than a wyvern. But then in 1923… well, the United States revoked my father’s citizenship, thus endangering my mother and me. So for my seventeenth birthday I was shipped to Chicago with nothing but my pride and wits. By then the Outfit had done all the dirty work of setting up shop for Prohibition, so I only starved and stole for a few months before my fighting prowess got me employed as a cleaner. Not that kind of cleaner, mind you. That’s also around when I met Yuri, though he was in a… different industry.”</p><p>He gave me a side-eye at that point, but seemed taken aback to find me listening with rapt attention. “Well. Anyway, after I turned 21 and he 23, we both decided to, uh, ditch our boss and come to New York. We wanted to start fresh, but when you’ve only really learned one set of survival skills, well, it’s hard to do anything but. And… now we’re here. He at the Ashen Wolves, me at the Golden Deer.”</p><p>Nothing I could’ve said in that moment would’ve been particularly fitting. It was obvious he was hiding a lot, a little less obvious and maybe more my imagination that he was frightened to reveal any more. But in the same way I wanted the night to never end, so too I was willing to be patient and not press him for more. So all I said was something pithy like, “Wow, Claude. You’ve really been through a lot, huh…”</p><p>And it was enough, I think, just to acknowledge his story. He simply hummed contentedly in response, letting the night softly settle over us. I don’t know if I fell asleep, or how long we lay together on the grass like that, the stars unhurriedly revolving above us. At some point he’d idly looped his pinky around mine. When I next opened my eyes Claude was sitting upright, so I propped myself up on my elbows.</p><p>He flashed me a quick smile, back to his usual self. “Now that we’ve gotten to take a breather, here’s your last task tonight.” I wondered what it could possibly be, in the middle of nowhere and under the most dazzling starry night sky I’d seen in a long time. Then he held out a deck of elongate tarot cards. Their backs were decorated in ornate gold and black designs reminiscent of medieval European crests.</p><p>“Ever seen these before?” he asked mildly. “That was a dumb question. All of us Golden Deer have one.”</p><p>I nodded anyway. “Tarot cards, right? We had an Italian farmhand who would play games with them.”</p><p>“Oh, good. I’m sure that deck wasn’t much different.” He rapidly cut the deck multiple times and then fanned out the cards for me. “Take one,” he instructed.</p><p>“I thought I had to, um, shoot someone before being allowed to take one,” I said with a nervous laugh, but he steadfastly maintained his position. His earlier words about murder resonated faintly in my mind.</p><p>I hesitated, hand hovering mid-air. Was this a contract, a fortune telling, destiny? All the above? I looked into his emerald eyes, reflecting the moonlight, and I thought of the moon tucked in his pocket by his heart. I then closed my eyes and let my fingers drift over the cards, until it felt right to tug one out.</p><p>Claude took the card and gave it a long appraisal. Finally, when the twinkle of the stars began to blur in my vision, a smile slowly spread across his face as he handed it back to me. “We may not have known each other for long, Byleth, but you mean The World to me. You are a wholesome presence in my life.”</p><p>I nearly blushed, but then remembered to flip the card over. The text <em>XXI – THE WORLD</em> stared up at me, upside-down, arching over a sea turtle whose shell was made up of silver mountains and golden forests.</p><p>“What, no response? I spent a long time trying to think of something witty to say, you know.”</p><p>I glanced over at him, and he seemed taken aback by my own smile which I couldn’t help. “You know, Claude, I once heard a poem that said, ‘The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk with.’”</p><p>His hand flew to his pocket where his card lay nestled by his heart. “Ah. Right, so you’ve seen my… I don’t know how seriously you take fortunetelling and spiritual stuff, but… aren’t you… afraid, then?”</p><p>I thought to the night at the House of Ashen Wolves, when without any reserve he tried to hit on me, but equally without a second thought he whisked me away from the police, out of harm’s way. I thought to my first evening at the Golden Deer speakeasy, surrounded by people from all walks of life who all seemed on friendly terms with each other, but how surprised they looked when I made Claude laugh. I thought of our moonlit road trip, of what had transpired just an hour ago, of the gun in my jacket, of the warm body beside me who so easily presented me with death after saving my life. The essence of <em>XVIII – THE MOON</em> was fear, delusions, falling prey to the imaginary, loss of direction, the hidden. And yet.</p><p>In that moment it didn’t matter where he was from, why he’d left, or what on earth he was scheming for the future. So I replied, “Of course not. You’re my friend, Claude. And… thank you, for everything.”</p><p>Claude leaned over and so, so gently, kissed me on the cheek. It was obviously different from Sylvain’s brazen smack, but also from Yuri’s refined but reserved French greeting. It was careful, but not cautious; deliberate, but not calculated. It was everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. And I was amazed by how soft his lips were; I had to stop my own hand from flying up to touch… mine or his, I’m not sure.</p><p>How to respond? Do nothing? Return the gesture? Reciprocate in some other fashion? The only thing I knew for certain was that if I faltered any longer he would regret his action and the night would be lost.</p><p>So I mustered my courage and, much less gracefully, kissed his cheek in return, my nose first bumping into his, like I had no spatial self-awareness. Ah, that laugh again, his head thrown back—from any other man it could be described as uproarious and wild, but from Claude it simply felt free. His emerald eyes crinkled in delight, with one calloused finger he tipped my chin upward and, searching quickly my eyes for any doubt or resistance, finding none, we closed our eyes and he pressed his lips against mine. Joy, lit like a candle. We kissed two, three, four times more, just like that, no tongue or sloppiness, as if afraid to be possessive, as if whispering, <em>thank you for being my friend, thank you for being here with me.</em> And I was very okay with that. All I wished was for Claude to be okay with that, okay with me too.</p><p>After that I really did fall asleep; the exhaustion from the whole evening finally seized my spirit. When I woke up it was already morning, sunlight filtering in through my bedroom curtains. I was all alone again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>&amp; w that... we have all the blue lions! it's also dedue's bday in a few so this is a v mini sort of related gift i suppose, haha. (i promise dimitri will get more screentime later in the work.) so w the ashen wolves, golden deer, &amp; blue lions all out at play, that only leaves... ;;;;3</p><p>i also decided/wrote the tarot stuff as related to crest canon &amp; prior to learning about/completely separate to the FE3H tarot project. nevertheless that project seems really cool &amp; the art is worth checking out! -- https://twitter.com/3HTarot/</p><p>lastly, i know the byleth i'm writing is v emotional, compared to how byleth starts out in canon. it's for a reason, which will become clearer as the story progresses,,,</p><p>see you for ch6 in a couple weeks (hopefully anyway -- am starting school but i'll do my best) !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. in which Byleth has a run-in with the police</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>and now, introducing our last guests of the evening........</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I had forgotten it was Thanksgiving. Dad and Alois’s affiliation with the Church of St. Seiros meant that I had to accompany them to services and meals throughout the weekend, lest my perceived faithlessness cause them to lose face. It was with much disdain for this draconian sense of religious community that I found myself wedged between Dad and Alois for Thanksgiving dinner, stumbling over grace (since when did Dad know all the words?) and stuffy speeches about thanking God for this feast. I found myself missing not only the rambunctious celebrations back on the farm, but also the unfettered parties—the easygoing, welcoming atmosphere—of the Golden Deer speakeasy. I wondered how Claude was doing, knowing how he didn’t care for these sorts of occasions. I wondered if, given his apparent surveillance of the Code Breaker and the movements of the Church, he was keeping tabs on me in any case.</p><p>“Oops,” Dad muttered, accidentally elbowing me as he cut his turkey. But then he did a double take, an interrogative side-eye as he realized that he’d made contact with something much denser than a human ribcage. I discreetly pointed with my chin, as I’d seen Claude do, toward Seteth watching us from across the table. Dad sighed, having no choice but to let it go for now. I myself had to resist bringing my hand to the object tucked under my lapel, warmed by my body. Mere inches of flesh and cloth separated that murderous steel from my murmuring heart. I hadn’t removed it from my jacket since Claude gifted it to me, but its presence in my pocket was at times overwhelming, at times nonexistent.</p><p>“Good evening, Bishop Rhea. I apologize for my tardiness.” A young woman stood between Rhea and Seteth and bowed curtly before taking the empty seat to Seteth’s left, across from me. Sitting next to each other, the resemblance was unmistakable.</p><p>“Flayn, you have missed grace and the first course of appetizers,” Seteth hissed. “Where were you?”</p><p>Flayn upturned her bottom lip, pouting like a child, in stark contrast to her manner of speaking. “My everyday whereabouts are none of your business, Father. A young lady of age, living during the 20<sup>th</sup> century no less, ought to be free to come and go as she pleases.”</p><p>“You go, girl!” Catherine yelled from the other end of the table, raising a fist. “Tell it to him straight!”</p><p>Shamir poked the blonde next to her with her fork. “Shut up. You’re being way too noisy, and nosy too.”</p><p>“Guys… can we please stop fighting and enjoy tonight’s dinner quietly for once?” the boy to Flayn’s left pleaded. He was the only person I’d never met before and appeared similar in age to Flayn. His hair was an unruly brown mop like Claude’s, but his skin was a rich copper tone, just a few shades darker…</p><p>Rhea clapped her hands together, and the room fell eerily silent. “How lovely it is that we have all gathered here tonight,” she proclaimed serenely, immune to the bickering at the table before her. “As you all know, tomorrow we shall host the most esteemed officials and businessmen of New York City, and on Saturday our doors will open to all citizens who desire a warm meal and a seat at the table…”</p><p>I reached over and poked Dad’s thigh insistently. <em>Do I also have to go?</em></p><p>He wrapped his hand around mine—a gesture so uncharacteristic for him, I nearly missed his response tapped into my palm: <em>Sadly, y. Bear w me. I’m not enjoying this any more than u r.</em></p><p>“…Sunday morning mass will conclude our long weekend of giving thanks, to our Holy Creator above and to our earthly brethren in worship...”</p><p>I took a deep breath to calm myself before asking: <em>Can u tell me about ur history w the Church?</em></p><p>Dad gave me yet another side-eye before replying: <em>Only after u tell me about the gun in ur pocket.</em></p><p>“…But tonight, I thank God above for allowing me to share this precious evening with my spiritual family. May He bless our Thanksgiving, our good fortune and health, and the Church in the years to come.”</p><p>Everyone mumbled, “Amen,” except for me. I’d missed the cue because of the sinking feeling in my gut.</p><p>Dad released my hand as waiters streamed in with the main course. I tried to put Dad’s suspicion out of my mind by watching the boy across the table. He was refusing to be served, instead standing up defiantly in hopes of assisting Rhea, only to have Flayn and Shamir tug him back down by the sleeves. <em>What an earnest kid</em>, I thought idly. <em>He’s the complete opposite of Claude</em>.</p><p>I spent the meal more lost in my dread than enjoying the food. Afterward Rhea insisted that Dad, Alois, and I stay over at the Church for the sake of communion. Thus, while dodging the bullet of Dad’s interrogation (why was he so wary of the Church eavesdropping?), I also lost the chance to seek refuge in those golden halls and honeyed drinks. They were certainly all having a much grander time than I was.</p><p>Friday and Saturday passed by lethargically. On Friday Dad granted me an exemption from socializing with the bigwigs, although as I snuck furtive peeks from afar I could’ve sworn I saw Caspar and Linhardt. Perhaps they were products of my imagination and desire for the speakeasy; perhaps they were their fathers. Saturday, I hoped to see maybe even one familiar face, but I was left disappointed. I supposed if any of them were religious, they would’ve chosen the Lutheran church. I hazily remembered Claude explaining (<em>before we were shot at</em>) that Pastor Edmund tolerated the rumrunning not because he drank, but because ironically he believed God’s name was being used in vain in the enforcement of Prohibition.</p><p>By Sunday morning my dread had been completely replaced with boredom. If I had been a bit younger I know would’ve been totally insufferable toward Dad and Alois, but from my end of the pew I could see they were nearly drifting off to sleep themselves in the middle of Seteth’s sermon. Nevertheless the Church was filled to the brim and then some, with haggardly-looking folks seated on the marble floor and leaning against archways. Very few of them appeared to be actually listening, but then again neither were Catherine and Shamir, who proclaimed themselves Rhea’s left- and right-hand women just the other night. Cyril, whose name I finally learned just this morning when I heard Rhea calling for his assistance, had the honor of standing off the side of the podium, to move seats and music stands around at the appropriate times. Like Seteth with Flayn, his allegiances lay first and foremost with Rhea.</p><p>Seteth was regaling some fable or another about the Holy Ghost when a finger tapped my shoulder—I nearly jumped a foot in the air in shock. Fighting the urge to make a run for it, I slowly pivoted around in my seat, only to find a grinning Yuri seated behind me, holding back laughter.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here?” I whispered urgently.</p><p>“Just making sure you don’t fall asleep in the middle of a sermon,” he mocked me with a wink.</p><p>I narrowed my eyes at him. “Seriously though. Actually, I need to ask you something.”</p><p>He nodded knowingly. “I’d love to invite you for coffee on the house after such a rousing speech, but I’ve actually got some business with the Bishop. But you can make ten PM at the House tonight, yeah?”</p><p>With Rhea? How far did his own influence extend—or Rhea’s, for that matter? “Alright, see you tonight then,” I whispered back. My attention returned to Seteth for just a couple sentences, but when I turned back around Yuri was gone. What was up with beautiful boys and mysteriously disappearing on me?</p><p>Dad tapped my shoulder: <em>Who was that?</em></p><p>I rolled my eyes. Was he playing the protective guardian now that we were at church? <em>Just a friend.</em></p><p><em>U have friends?</em> he tapped back, and when I shot him an indignant look he had a curious expression.</p><p>Before he could start attempting anything heartfelt I replied, <em>Sorry about </em>…<em> hiding things from u, but can we save for tomorrow? After we get some rest from all this Church BS</em>.</p><p>He stroked his beard with his other hand and sighed. <em>OK. I’m tired but gotta get to a new case tonight anyway.</em> … <em>Dinner w Alois OK?</em></p><p>I nodded. Suddenly the entire Church stood up and an organ started blasting chords. With all the people present I couldn’t tell if Dad was singing or just lip syncing. As for me, I closed my eyes and dipped my head in pretend prayer, wondering when I would finally be released from this weekend of boredom.</p><p>-</p><p>I found Yuri lounging in a booth all the way in the back with Balthus. Catching sight of me padding over, Balthus patted Yuri’s shoulder and rose to leave us alone before I reached them. I slid into the booth across from Yuri, who was without the usual makeup and yet looked stunning nonetheless.</p><p>“So glad you could make it,” Yuri purred, replicating the light French greeting on either cheek.</p><p>“Um, thanks for having me,” I mumbled. “Did your… business go well with Rhea?”</p><p>He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that. Unfortunately I can’t spill all the beans, but I can tell you that I’ve successfully renewed the Wolves’ immunity against the Church’s insipid attempts at prying into our underground side businesses. So, hooray for us, I guess. Anyway, what was it you wanted to ask me?”</p><p>“So the other night…” As I recounted that night’s events, it was certainly a pleasure watching his facial expressions morph from skepticism to slight amusement to concern, practiced as they may have been.</p><p>“No, I don’t have enough info to make a judgment call, and that in itself is worrying,” he said once I’d finished. “Give me three weeks. I’ll send out my informants and relay any useful tidbits I find.”</p><p>I nodded eagerly. “Thanks, Yuri. I want to be useful to Claude, but you’re the one doing all the work.”</p><p>He leaned back and stretched, saying, “I guess it can’t be helped, can it? I personally wouldn’t expect any less from myself.” Behind him Hapi and Constance again were bickering onstage, though the Sunday night audience was small enough that it felt more like a casual break in the setlist than an interruption.</p><p>I stood up to go—to the Golden Deer—but Yuri’s sudden stare fixed me in place. “Claude’s been asking after you. That’s the real reason why I went out of my way to find you at the Church this morning. Don’t worry, I informed him of your whereabouts… but did something happen between you two?”</p><p>“Besides getting shot at together by potentially the Mafia, no, not really.” I was surprised by my dodgy response. Was he… jealous? And was I nervous because of that?</p><p>He tilted his head slightly, questioningly. “Hm. I know he asked you to be his spotter. That’s not just any ol’ job in the moonshine business, you know. How much do you even know about the whole operation?”</p><p>“I know you two have history together,” I said, almost accusingly. That was the extent of what I knew, to be honest, but he stiffened his lip and appeared to bite back a response himself.</p><p>Then he took a deep breath and visibly, maybe forcibly, relaxed a bit. “Look, I don’t know what he said—or did—to you. But since apparently nobody else has done you the favor yet, I’ll tell you now, that you really ought to be more cautious of that man. All of us ensnared in his network of spies and rumrunners have to trust him for the sake of survival, but he’d sooner kill us to save his own hide. You hear me?”</p><p>Instinctively I wanted to defend Claude, but I stopped myself. What was I passionate about? Claude was a friend, that I believed with all my heart. But in reality, we hadn’t known each other for long, and he was only doing the right thing by defending me. Even so, he promised to continue keeping me safe…</p><p>Neither of us had the chance to proceed further, as the now too-familiar sound of police sirens cut across the room. The audience, already few in number, rapidly dispersed into their pre-ordained groups as people in uniform began marching in. Yuri cursed under his breath and made his way to the entrance and toward Balthus. I decided to follow him. The House had been relatively peaceful tonight and there was virtually nobody who could be reasonably arrested, so what was the police up to this time?</p><p>“Halt! I am Ferdinand von Aegir,” proclaimed a ginger-haired gentleman, holding his posture somehow more erect than the stripper pole. “The NYPD is seeking the individual named Byleth Eisner. Your cooperation will ensure the safety of the patrons in this nightclub for the time being. …So?”</p><p>Yuri muttered to me, “As charming as you are, I hope you’re not turning out to be some sort of police magnet.” His expression was grim. Unlike Claude, he couldn’t simply waltz out of the place with me in tow; the House of Ashen Wolves was his territory, his family. I took a deep breath and decided to save him from making the difficult choice, or otherwise coming up with some overly complicated scheme.</p><p>“Present, Officer Aegir,” I announced myself, trying to keep my knees from buckling. I heard Yuri inhale sharply beside me, though he didn’t budge. “What do you want from me?”</p><p>Ferdinand smiled pleasantly, as if I’d entreated him to teatime. “Ah, wonderful of you to speak up so promptly. Certainly saves me a lot of trouble anyway. Shall we make haste, then? Come quickly now.”</p><p>I glanced back at Yuri, who gave me a firm look. <em>Don’t do anything stupid, and they’ll let you go free.</em> I nodded at what I’d hoped he was trying to convey with those eyes that’d seen too much, and scurried away to catch up to the officer. On the way out Balthus clapped me on the back and gave me a thumbs up to show his support. At least I didn’t get put in handcuffs, I idly thought as I got in the car.</p><p>---</p><p>The ride over was mostly spent in silence. Of course Ferdinand refused to disclose anything about why my presence was requested by the NYPD headquarters (“That is classified information, so I don’t want to hear another word from you, Byleth Eisner!”), but I got the feeling that he wasn’t too sure himself.</p><p>Not that I had any idea of whom to expect at the police station, but of course it had to be Dorothea who awaited my arrival. She was leaning against the limestone archways framing the entrance to the NYPD headquarters, the butt of a finished cigarette between her fingers.</p><p>“Miss Dorothea!” Ferdinand exclaimed as he stepped out of the car. “My favorite female police officer.”</p><p>“That’s Lieutenant Arnault to you, Ferdie,” Dorothea retorted. “And, there are literally only two policewomen in all of New York City, and the other is way out of your league, so that’s not saying much.”</p><p>“Oh, uh, you know what I meant, Dor—I mean, Officer Arnault,” he sputtered, but to no avail. Dorothea pushed past him to grab me by the arm and drag me into the building. I hoped she was simply venting her frustration toward him via my poor limb, and that she’d forgotten about the House incident over a month ago. Behind me I heard Ferdinand sigh and get back in the car, driving off.</p><p>The police building already seemed massive on the outside; now inside, its rooms and floors seemed infinite. This time of night it seemed we were the only ones around. The only sound was the clack-clack of Dorothea’s boots, reverberating endlessly through the empty hallways.</p><p>“Just so we’re clear,” she suddenly spoke, startling me slightly, “it’s true I used to work at the House of Ashen Wolves. But after one too many police raids, I realized things were never going to change down there, nor did I want to live that kind of life or earn that kind of living forever… I worked my ass off to get aboveground and a decent job, and I’ve convinced Edelgard to stop policing West Village so strictly. And what do I get from Yuri? Nothing but derision and allegations of betrayal. He calls himself a wolf, but he’s more of a shameless little pig. You can’t change things from without. So I’m helping Edelgard to reform the police, person by person, until we have equality for all. Even if it takes a hundred years.”</p><p>So she hadn’t forgotten after all. I did feel some sympathy for her, but I could also understand why Yuri would never forgive her. Balthus and other innocent folk were still arrested, harassed, and probably a bit traumatized that night, after all. The real question was… who was Edelgard?</p><p>We stopped somewhere in the basement, which was brightly lit compared to the rest of the building. Dorothea waved me away before turning heel and retiring to an office in an adjacent wing. Sitting at the front desk were two men in uniforms with black eagles on the arms, who seemed oddly familiar…</p><p>“Hey!” Caspar shouted, neglecting to use his inside voice. “I remember you from the Golden Deer! You a new hire or somethin’? Claude was taking you around to meet all his crew members, so I figured—”</p><p>“Ugh, turn your voice down a decibel or two, would you, Caspar?” Linhardt rubbed his eyes, having just woken from a nap apparently.</p><p>Caspar scratched his head. “Deci-what now? Oh! A cease-and-desist, is that what you mean?”</p><p>“No, it’s a newly-invented unit of sound—you know what, never mind. It would take too much effort to explain to a knucklehead like you, especially one who spends his spare time literally banging on drums.”</p><p>“Hey!” Caspar stood up in protest. “Not only is drumming a load of fun, but also I get pretty good tips for it. I don’t see you getting paid to study dusty old books by dusty old philosophers or whatever.”</p><p>“That’s true, I don’t,” Linhardt conceded. “But, I do get paid to do the bare minimum here at NYPD-HQ. Based on the effort-spent to payment-earned ratio, I clearly win this round.”</p><p>I decided to cut in before they both forgot I was here. “Wait, so is your main job here with the NYPD?”</p><p>“Sure,” Linhardt shrugged languidly, a motion as fluid for him as crops bowing under a summer breeze. “Everyone at the Golden Deer is a part-timer. Well, except Claude, of course, ‘cause he owns the place.”</p><p>“I’ve just started my second year here,” Caspar chimed in. “Edelgard’s got me doing interrogations.” He pounded a fist into his other hand, in a gesture that appeared more playful than menacing, for now.</p><p>This Edelgard fellow again. I turned back to Linhardt. “You work here too?”</p><p>“Me? Work? Funny story,” he smirked. “No, I’m a university student. Lysithea and I take the same philosophy classes, though I think she’s either triple-majoring or making up her own curriculum. I don’t get why anyone would want to work so hard when we’ll all be forced into boring, tiring jobs when we graduate. Although, I guess since she’s a woman she isn’t guaranteed work upon graduation…”</p><p>“So what do you have lined up?” I asked, genuinely intrigued as to what he would even want to do.</p><p>Linhardt sighed, leaning dangerously far back in his chair. “Oh, I’m not as free a cat as you think. My father’s a politician, but since they illegalized nepotism too recently for people to forget about it, I’ll just start interning here with Ferdinand and his father, the Chief of Police. Although Edelgard’s father’s the Deputy Chief, well, policing is one of those few professions where nepotism is still de facto permissible, valued even. So they say Ferdinand’s next in line to become Chief. Strategic position for me then, yes?”</p><p>“Indeed.” A short but intimidating woman suddenly materialized and shoved Linhardt’s seat back onto all fours, causing him to emit an unseemly yelp as he barely stopped his collision with the table. She too was dressed in a police uniform with a black eagle on the arm, but both her presence and her demeanor indicated that she was much above all the policemen I had seen so far. She fixed her icy glare upon me.</p><p>“Are you Edelgard?” I asked, already knowing the answer.</p><p>She deflated ever so slightly before collecting herself again. “I am Inspector Edelgard Hresvelg, yes. …You may call me Edelgard if you wish.” Turning back to Linhardt and Caspar, who both sat up a bit straighter, she continued calmly, “I hope these little eagles haven’t been causing you too much trouble, Byleth. Come now, I’d like to speak with you privately for a moment. Truly, you fascinate me so.”</p><p>I followed her into a narrow corridor lined with doors to interrogation cells interspersed with offices. Channeling my inner charm, I asked blithely, “Are you folks, like, the night shift or something?”</p><p>“I’d just like to clarify one point with you,” she began, still walking. Watching her eyes skirt the premises for any eavesdroppers, I found it odd that she was acting so furtively in her own place of employment. But then she continued, “Under normal circumstances, it would be my own father at the head of the NYPD. But you see, the NYPD—and all the civil servants of New York City, to be honest—are all lowly crooks. Chief Aegir colluded with Senator Hevring, a well-established politician, and Master Bergliez, a top executive in Colt’s Manufacturing Company, to oust my father and steal the position of Chief. Tell me, how does a city fight crime and poverty when its only source of law enforcement is itself corrupt?”</p><p>I thought about her predicament. Was she so invested in this because she took the injustice against her father personally? “What about St. Seiros’s Church?” I ventured, remembering my first few weeks here. “They recently redrafted m—uh, the Code Breaker. At least so I’ve heard from the newspapers.”</p><p>Now she stopped to glare at me. “We are in the midst of the worst depression in American history. The Seiros Church receives thousands of dollars a year in federal funding and donations, plus it’s tax-exempt, yet all they have to show for it are fancy banquets for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But do they generate jobs? Or provide housing and job training for the homeless? No. Instead they schmooze with officials and businessmen, who in turn are bankrupting those already disenfranchised and keeping all that money to themselves. And speaking of the Code Breaker, when he left their ranks years ago, they turned to us and became a huge drain on our resources, financially and timewise… I wonder why he returned.”</p><p>I now made the connection between the older men I saw at Friday’s services and the younger men at the desk just earlier. “Why employ Caspar and Linhardt, then?”</p><p>“Caspar is integral to our services if only because his older brother is slated to soon inherit their father’s factory. Proximity to the arms industry can only be beneficial to us, as you may well imagine. Linhardt will do anything to give up his soft power and get out of actual politicking. The easiest way to do that is to throw his lot in with those who have hard power. If all my plans work out, someday that’ll be me.”</p><p> “Who’s supporting you in the NYPD?” I inquired, more interested than doubtful. “Those two, and…?”</p><p>She tapped the eagle on her arm. “Anyone with this patch is part of the Black Eagle Strike Force. As an Inspector I have command of my own battalion, and I’ve only trusted a select few with my ambitions. Caspar and Linhardt, yes, as well as Dorothea, the ever-unwitting Ferdinand, and a few more you’re about to meet. Together… we will reform the NYPD, as well as the five boroughs of New York City.”</p><p>I glanced at the woman beside me, auburn hair streaked with early hints of silvery white. She stared back with conviction. I could tell she meant every word of it, thought through every contingency plan.</p><p>To our left I could hear insistent banging from one of the rooms we were approaching. Edelgard ran a hand through her hair, then moved to open the door. “Let me introduce you to someone whom I’m thinking of trying to recruit as a new Black Eagles, pending her cooperation, that is...”</p><p>A woman sat alone in the chamber, dressed only in a simple cloth dress, thick black hair spilling over her shoulders. She glared with a ferocity that made me shiver. And her skin was the same tone as Cyril’s…</p><p>“This is Petra MacNeary. She is basically an Indian princess,” Edelgard presented her as if reading from a textbook. “Of the Navajo, correct? She came to renegotiate a land treaty between her tribe and the U.S. government, and was found wandering the streets of Brooklyn before being brought here into custody.”</p><p>“I was not wandering,” she interrupted. “I am still seeking the white men who gave us only lies and fake papers. We are demanding the return of our ancestors’ homes. You are preventing me from doing this.”</p><p>I couldn’t read Edelgard’s expression—understanding? pity? annoyance?—but she responded in a level tone, “We will discuss your situation further in a few days. The Black Eagle Strike Force may have some use for you yet. Perhaps if you can prove yourself a vital asset, then I may be able to take on your case.”</p><p>Wordlessly then we exited the room. I felt her fiery glower burning into me as I turned my back on her. Such rage, that had to be contained by Edelgard forcing helplessness upon her. It was cruel, no doubt…</p><p>A near-supersonic scream pierced through the hallways, followed by menacing laughter. Both sounds made my hair stand on end, but Edelgard seemed completely unfazed. “Perfect timing,” she groaned more to herself, striding toward one of the doors labeled “INTERROGATION.” I gulped and followed her.</p><p>As soon as the door swung open a litany of fearful protests flooded out from the room: “Oh, nonono, please don’t hurt me, I promise I won’t do it again, just don’t, aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!”</p><p>I instinctively shielded my eyes, but Edelgard’s exasperated sigh brought my attention back to the scene. A man with raven-black hair and pale skin towered over a tiny girl whose wrists were cuffed to the seat. She was squirming uncontrollably, so much so I worried she might topple herself and the chair over.</p><p>“Hubert, would you please explain yourself? And Bernadetta, we’ve already talked about keeping your voice down in this wing of the building,” Edelgard chided, clearly unfazed.</p><p>“S-sorry,” Bernadetta whispered, barely audible. “But Hubert’s trying to torture me, again!”</p><p>“For the last time, I am not—ugh,” Hubert took a step back, keeping his eyes on his subject. In his hands were… a cotton ball and a roll of gauze? At his feet were bottles of Dakin’s solution and Vaseline.</p><p>Returning my attention to Bernadetta, I saw a shallow but long red gash along her forearm, lightly buttered with the medicines on the ground. <em>It must have really stung to have them applied on such a large area</em>, I thought to myself, recalling childhood memories of Dad treating my scrapes and cuts.</p><p>“Oh, Bernadetta, not again,” Edelgard approached her from behind, one hand steadying the chair. “We need to make sure this doesn’t get infected, okay? I’m sure Hubert would be finished by now if you weren’t making such a fuss.”</p><p>“B-but he was laughing so maniacally! How could I possibly sit still for a madman like him?”</p><p>Another look at Hubert and I had to agree with her assessment. He was grinning like the devil.</p><p>“I’m just very proud of you, Bernadetta,” he smiled, which was like looking into a lion’s jaws. “You did such a fine job out there cleaning up today, I’m sure even your father would’ve been impressed.” While he spoke he dabbed her wound with the cotton ball. Edelgard unrolled some gauze for him.</p><p>Bernadetta now seemed downcast, no longer resisting. “I keep telling you, though, I can’t control my little, um, murderous rampages. You know that. So I-I don’t deserve any credit for those, okay?”</p><p>“Murderous rampages?” I echoed, more out of curiosity than anything at this point.</p><p>The three of them turned toward me in unison, apparently unaware or having forgotten my presence. Bernadetta emitted a small <em>eek!</em> while Hubert frowned (which seemed much more natural for him).</p><p>“It’s a bit hard to explain,” Edelgard picked up the conversation smoothly, “but since you don’t seem a fraction as terrified as Bernadetta, I’ll try to summarize. Essentially, Bernadetta and Hubert form a secret special ops team that the NYPD sends in when the situation spirals out of their control. Hubert is skilled in de-escalation tactics, so typically he is capable of handling things alone. Bernadetta usually prefers being more of a recluse and locking herself up out of her own free will in one of our HQ rooms here—"</p><p>“Hey!” Bernadetta protested, while Hubert muttered, “She’s not wrong.”</p><p>“—because you see, the moment she gets an injury, no matter how insignificant, she goes berserk. Simply put, nobody in the vicinity besides Hubert is spared, and therefore no witness except Hubert leaves the scene. It has something to do with childhood trauma, although none of us, even Bernadetta, are quite sure what exactly. But in any case, we only dispatch her in the most extreme of cases.”</p><p>I stared at the petite figure before me, still cowering beneath Hubert’s shadow. Her, a murderer? Then again, if Claude was telling the truth, so were folks like Lysithea and Ignatz, who appeared similar in age.</p><p>“And who might this be?” Hubert filled the silence, though he was obviously addressing only Edelgard.</p><p>Holding out her hand to me, she replied, “This is Byleth Eisner. We’re just taking a tour of the premises.” Then she turned to me and said for all to hear, “You’re not afraid of people who kill to live, are you?”</p><p>Claude and the Golden Deer… Yuri and the Ashen Wolves… Dimitri and the Blue Lions too, probably. “…No, I’m not,” I finally answered, a bit too late for their liking. I could feel Hubert’s steely gaze boring through my skull like a slow-motion bullet. How much did they already know about me?</p><p>“Well then,” Hubert said finally. “I am Hubert Vestra, and this is Bernadetta Varley. We are… pleased to make your acquaintance. Although we are not formally employed by or under the jurisdiction of the New York Police Department, we comprise an additional two members of the Black Eagle Strike Force.”</p><p>“Vestra? Varley?” <em>Didn’t Dad mention…</em> My heart seemed to stop. “So you two belong to…”</p><p>“Oh, you’ve heard of them? They’re not exactly household names… but then again, I expected no less from the child of the Code Breaker.” For the first time that evening Edelgard’s smile was genuine. “Yes, Hubert belongs to the Vestra family of the Italian Mafia, and Bernadetta to the Varley family of the Irish Mob. To put it simply, networking isn’t limited to the worlds of banking or rumrunning, you know. Besides, don’t you think it’s imperative for the law to maintain relations with all factions of society?”</p><p>My words of consternation and objection alike caught in my throat. So the police’s apparent ineptitude at the beginning of the year… then the police raid at the Ashen Wolves… but also the mysterious group of people who shot at Claude and me just a few days ago… were all these events connected, right here?</p><p>“So what do you want from me then?” I finally remembered to ask. “I’ve… I’ve never killed anyone.”</p><p>“Is that really true?” Edelgard gave a short laugh of surprise. “If so… that’s a very intriguing piece of information. You see, as soon as I learned Claude had brought you along on one of his little trips, I knew I had to meet you. He may be much more of a sly fox than a golden deer, but I know for a fact that he has a sharp eye for skills he desires. That is, he doesn’t take just anybody on his midnight adventures.”</p><p>I remained tightlipped. How much did she know about the Golden Deer and the Blue Lions?</p><p>“But having gathered intel from the Eagles who have made contact with you, and now having spoken a fair bit with you,” she continued, eyes narrowing at me, “I don’t see what’s so special about you. Aside from your peculiarly androgynous appearance it turns out you’re simply ordinary, through and through.”</p><p>Ordinary? I supposed it was true for the most part. Up until a couple months ago, I hadn’t a single interesting skill, achievement, or life event to my name. But that night at the House of Ashen Wolves… “Decent folk,” I’d been labeled in order to survive. Claude, too. I found myself suppressing a smile.</p><p>“Well, that’s good news for Bernie, at least,” Bernadetta mumbled. “Can I go now?”</p><p>“Oh, almost.” Hubert remembered what he was doing before and stretched a piece of medical tape with such speed that it crackled loudly, making Bernadetta shriek. Then he was simpering again. Everything about the man made it sound nefarious, but I could tell now that he was purely enjoying teasing her.</p><p>Edelgard smiled fondly at them for just a moment before putting her serious face back on. “Let’s leave them to it. They’re partners in crime…fighting, after all, even though their home gangs have the bitterest of rivalries across the five boroughs. I suppose it’s the perfect cover for their work together.”</p><p>Although Bernadetta’s cries of “Please don’t leave! Hubert’s gonna eat me alive!” followed us out the room, Edelgard shut the door nonchalantly behind us and beckoned for me to keep pace.</p><p>“He really does look terrifying,” I offered casually. <em>Ordinary, decent folk</em>. “Has he ever considered, I dunno, wearing a cute flower or something to make Bernadetta less frightened of him all the time?”</p><p>“I’ll forward your suggestion to them,” Edelgard responded matter-of-factly.</p><p>We walked in silence back through that long, sterile hallway. Absentmindedly I wondered if she had initially been considering recruiting me as well. But given her apparent knowledge of my relations with Claude and Yuri, shouldn’t she have known that I was too far entrenched in their worlds to join hers?</p><p>Finally we reached the basement atrium, where Linhardt was actually asleep this time and Caspar now replaced by Ferdinand, who stood and saluted enthusiastically. Edelgard ignored him and was about to kick Linhardt’s chair, when she decided instead to restrain herself in front of her other underling.</p><p>“Can I ask what was the point of all of this?” I asked as neutrally as possible.</p><p>Edelgard crossed her arms and gave me a pointed look. “Think of it as an impromptu job interview. For the time being you’ve failed—I think we both know you’d be an awful police officer—but I’m keeping your file on hand. And now each member of the Black Eagle Strike Force knows to keep an eye on you.”</p><p>I wasn’t sure if this was better or worse than a one-time arrest. “…Sorry, I guess. Am I free to go now?”</p><p>“One last thing, Byleth.” Edelgard placed a hand on my shoulder. Although height-wise she only came up to my chin, that consequently meant my neck was right at her eye level. No doubt she was considering the best way to make use of this specialized surveillance range when she then said, “If you tell a soul about whom you met here, rest assured that you and your loved ones will be erased from history.”</p><p>With that she turned on her heel and promptly left for her office, leaving me no opportunity to recover from my speechlessness. Ferdinand gave a curt bow and extended a hand toward the exit. <em>Please leave</em>.</p><p>It took all my willpower not to make a break for it, and to instead depart the premises calmly. The double doors felt heavier than gravestones when I leaned my body against them to push them open, and the air of early winter felt absolutely desiccating. I plodded down the concrete steps without looking back, holding my breath until I heard the whoosh and slam of the doors closing behind me.</p><p>It was almost midnight; the Golden Deer would be winding down by now, this time on a Sunday night. Perhaps I could catch Claude before he too disappeared for the night. But the words of Yuri and Edelgard alike echoed through my mind, stopping me in my tracks. Was Claude a dangerous man? Was it too late to take my leave and escape from all of this illegal rumrunning and gang fighting unscathed?</p><p>I clenched my fists. <em>Right now I fucking hate this city</em>. A memory of his emerald eyes, that glimmer of sympathy, crossed my mind. But I put it out. Yuri had said he’d informed Claude of my whereabouts, hadn’t he? Taking a deep breath that transformed into a sigh, I decided to head back home for the night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>&amp; that's the Black Eagle Strike Force, &amp; overall all the fe3h students! still unsure about folks like manuela/hanneman or npcs though... tbd!</p><p>[also this is wot the NYPD hq used to look like (can u imagine how many secret passageways it probably contained) https://ephemeralnewyork.wordpress.com/2013/03/13/the-most-complete-police-headquarters-in-the-world/ ]</p><p>lastly -- it's only been a couple weeks of school but it's really been a Lot (esp having been out of school for a bit). i'll do my best to get ch7 (the halfway point!!) up in 2 week's time as usual, but sometimes life just gets u in the gut, u kno wot i mean? so actually if you want upd8s check out my twitter (tho it's mostly RTs) @deltacapricorn . thanks &amp; see y'all around!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. in which Byleth keeps a secret</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>we've reached the halfway point of the story! thanks for sticking w mi all this time :''')</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I didn’t realize how tired out I was from that weekend until I awoke around noontime. The rays of the sun, low in the skies of late autumn, stretched across my room. The din of the city combined with my pangs of hunger were becoming unbearable, and I felt some sense of déjà vu mixed with nostalgia.</p>
<p>I heard the faint clatter of plates against the kitchen table and with a sinking feeling I remembered what I’d promised Dad: <em>can we save it for tomorrow?</em> And indeed tomorrow was today.</p>
<p>Still in my pajamas, acutely aware of my jacket sitting folded on the corner of my bed with the pistol, I poked my head out of the room. Dad was seated with the daily papers when he caught sight of me. He gestured toward the seat across from him, tucking the newspaper away under his chair.</p>
<p>As I padded over and got seated, he put on a wry grin and quipped, “Well, you missed breakfast by a long shot, but I was never a stickler about what meals come when.” Before me was a heaping plateful of pancakes, bacon, eggs over easy, and a literal carton of orange juice. It was a good idea after all not to visit the Golden Deer, lest I was found to be completely hungover in front of Dad.</p>
<p>“So uh…” <em>About that gun in your pocket…</em> Dad had never been good at these heart-to-hearts, and just hearing these filler words made my stomach clench a bit too uncomfortably to eat, voracious as I felt otherwise. I wish I’d had the foresight to lie in bed a bit longer to come up with an excuse, anything.</p>
<p>“How’re you finding life in the city, kid?”</p>
<p>I gave him a look of disbelief before nodding vaguely, opting to shovel a forkful of pancakes into my mouth in lieu of an answer. Dad smiled at the sight of my puffed cheeks, then looked away. Here it comes, I thought.</p>
<p>“Byleth. I don’t have much time here—don’t look so alarmed, I just mean that I have to get to work soon because I didn’t give them a reason for coming in late—but I just wanted to say, I’m sorry you were forced hundreds of miles east to a huge city you had zero familiarity with. But you deserve to know that Flayn’s kidnapping case, though obviously urgent for Seteth, was more of a convenient cover for the real reason why I was asked to come back.”</p>
<p>My interest was piqued. My gaze settled again on his face, and I registered with mild surprise how much older he suddenly appeared. Did he always have those deep brow lines, those creases by his eyes?</p>
<p>“The truth is, I’ve been tasked with investigating rumors of escalating conflict between the Italian Mafia and the Irish Mob. Should they prove true… it may fall on my shoulders to suppress an all-out turf war.”</p>
<p>I choked and took a swig of orange juice to force everything down. Edelgard’s words passed through my mind: <em>If you tell a soul about whom you met here, rest assured that you and your loved ones will be erased from history.</em></p>
<p>Dad sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “My relationship with the Church is a story for another time, but you can probably tell it’s an uneasy one. So I also just want to clarify: I’m not doing this for them; I’m doing this for New York City. And I want to protect you and Alois too.”</p>
<p>A wave of guilt washed over me along with the juice. The answers were sitting right in front of him—and yet they would put him in even greater danger than he thought he was avoiding by aligning with the Church of St. Seiros.</p>
<p>He glanced toward my bedroom, the door slightly ajar. “I know you’ve been staying out late at night and coming back with the scent of alcohol, as watery as that bathtub gin probably is. Right now all I’m asking is that you please tell me the truth. What are you doing with a gun? …Did you join a gang?”</p>
<p>The moment had arrived. I didn’t have Claude’s wit or Yuri’s sharp tongue. I had no choice but to tell the truth and risk the safety, the sanctity of Claude and everyone at the speakeasy.</p>
<p>Thus, I mustered up the very elegant explanation of, “Um… I’m going to be a spotter. For a rumrunner.”</p>
<p>Dad leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. I couldn’t tell if his expression was one of disapproval, skepticism, or resignation. I tried to fill the conversation gap with more food, but my fork clinked against an empty plate. So we sat there in awkward silence for what seemed like an hour.</p>
<p>Finally he reached across the table, me trying not to shrink back in fear, and—<em>thok!</em>—flicked me in the forehead. I blinked in shock. “Byleth, you looked like you were gonna have a heart attack just now.”</p>
<p>I rubbed my forehead and retorted, “Nobody likes getting interrogated by a father the size of a bear.”</p>
<p>That made him smile at least. He propped himself on one elbow on the dining table. “I suppose you did spot for me back on the ranch… But rifles and pistols belong to two different worlds. Tell me, do you know how to cock a pistol? Do you even know what the make is?”</p>
<p>“I know that at least!” I replied indignantly. “It’s a Colt .25.”</p>
<p>Dad gave a low whistle. “Your fellow rumrunner has good taste.” A pause. “Alright, then. Neither the Vestras nor the Varleys are affiliated with the speakeasy scene. Plus when I was your age I was having wild adventures of my own, so it’d be hypocritical of me to stop you. You’re off the hook. For now.”</p>
<p>Though I felt my shoulders sag in relief, the knot in my stomach tightened. How would I be able to protect Dad if…? I nearly jumped when Dad then firmly grabbed my arm from across the table.  </p>
<p>“And,” he continued with a toothy grin, “I’ll take you out for target practice sometime. Not that I ever want you to put those skills to use. But your old man used to be quite the sharpshooter, you know.”</p>
<p>I offered him a weak laugh. “Sure thing, Dad. You’re right, I’ve never seen you miss your target.”</p>
<p>He returned a fond smile and straightened his posture out of pride, only to catch sight of our wall clock. “Shit, now I’m really late.” He almost knocked over his chair as he hastily slipped on his shoes and coat.</p>
<p>“Oh one last thing,” he said quickly, grabbing his briefcase. “Um. I’m glad you’ve made friends here. And I know from firsthand experience that the moonshine business is full of decent folk. …Just don’t go falling in with the wrong crowd now, alright? I still can’t believe Alois sent you to that gay club in his stead back then… Anyway, beware of seedy folks. Help me keep you out of harm’s way. Understood?”</p>
<p>“…Understood.” With that he dashed out the door, leaving me with a full stomach and a heavy heart.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>I had resigned myself to an afternoon of boredom, twiddling away the final hours of November whilst suspended between my intrigue of Yuri’s warnings and my desire to see Claude at night anyway. I tried to practice reading with Dad’s forgotten newspaper, but I was soon sickened by the verbose accolades lavished upon the Church of St. Seiros for the past weekend’s “charity” events. They also reminded me of how little I knew about the Church compared to Claude and Yuri. I found myself thinking too of Edelgard at the police headquarters and Dimitri at his preferred church, wondering how they would’ve reacted to those words clenched in their fists, devoid of all but the meagerest of thoughts and prayers.</p>
<p>So I was completely taken by surprise when, a few hours after Dad left and a few hours before nighttime properly settled upon the city, someone barged in—and it wasn’t Alois or Dad.</p>
<p>“Huh! Nice place you got here,” Hilda smirked and kicked the door shut, more out of sloth than wrath.</p>
<p>“Hey,” I mustered weakly. “Hilda, the lock…”</p>
<p>She swiveled around to appreciate her handiwork, flipping a hammer with one hand. “Oh, sorry, I guess I should’ve knocked, but I didn’t feel like waiting for you to answer the door. Just put it on Lorenz’s tab!”</p>
<p>I groaned at the thought of being indebted to him. It’d be easier to find a carpenter after this meeting. I inquired as politely as possible, “So, uh, why are you here? Also, how did you find out where I live?”</p>
<p>She feigned anger at my question. “Whaddya expect from the Golden Deer’s chief intelligence officer?”</p>
<p>I stuffed a laugh into a sneeze-cough. “You? Intelligence officer?”</p>
<p>Now she was actually annoyed, poking my shoulder with the hammer to let me know so. “What’re you talking about? You’ve seen me in action before! Nobody can say no to the cutest gal in the city if she asks sweetly enough. …And I guess it also helps to say I’m the best friend of a certain Claude Riegan.”</p>
<p><em>Best friend, huh? </em>I absentmindedly wondered. “How is he, Hilda?”</p>
<p>“How <em>is</em> he? Go ask him yourself,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t know what you owe him, but he literally hasn’t stopped asking after you all weekend. That’s why I’m here, by the way, he made me do some recon on your location. And a boring target you are, you barely moved an inch all weekend! Ugh, that Claude, doesn’t he know girls absolutely hate when a man can’t stop talking about other—"</p>
<p>“What’s that in your other hand?” I asked out of desperation, unable to find any other way to stop her tirade. Her comment about Claude asking after me amidst her rambling had frozen my ability to think.</p>
<p>Thankfully it worked. “My other—oh, you mean this little fella.” She tossed in my direction a thick manila envelope, which I fumbled but caught. Something shaped like a malleable brick was inside. “Mister Leader Man asked me to deliver this to you, since he was too jittery to hold onto it for another twenty-four hours. What a weenie, am I right?”</p>
<p>Unwrapping the thin string that bound the ends together, I peered inside. I nearly dropped it in shock.</p>
<p>“That’s your share of our earnings from Thanksgiving weekend,” she explained with a smug expression. “Though I have a feeling he slipped a li’l extra for you in there. Incentive to keep you on board, maybe?”</p>
<p>I nodded mutely, unsure if this was even acceptable… then again, none of what I had been doing was really acceptable by the standards of the law and church. “Th-thanks,” I finally managed after I realized she was waiting for verbal affirmation. “This looks like a lot of money, though…”</p>
<p>“Isn’t it?” she grinned. “Why don’t you treat yourself to something nice? A coffee with Yuri, perhaps? Or better yet, you could treat yours truly to a fancy candlelit dinner at the Russian Tea Room?”</p>
<p>I ignored her fluttering eyelashes, more bothered by the joke about Yuri, though I assured myself it was better the folks at the Golden Deer rib me about my perceived relationship with him than with Claude.</p>
<p>“Hey, if you’re really the information officer…”</p>
<p>“Um, <em>intelligence</em> officer,” she corrected. “And yes, <em>really</em>.”</p>
<p>I grinned, though I hadn’t meant the error. “Fine, intelligent, whatever. But, uh… Can you tell me anything about the history between Yuri and Claude?”</p>
<p>“They’ve got history. That’s all you need to know,” she replied simply, without missing a beat, only one eyebrow raised. And then, as an afterthought, “You don’t need to worry about them getting together, if that’s why you’re asking. That ship has long sailed, I can tell you that much. Or, if the stories are true, it never came ashore in the first place. But we’d be navigating apocryphal territory there.”</p>
<p>The vagueness of the statement almost felt ominous. “So is Claude—”</p>
<p>She put a finger, nail painted pink, to my lips. I could feel the callus from years of string-plucking on her fingertip. “Trust me when I say I’m looking out for you, because I really am, on Claude’s behest no less. So if you know what’s good for you, you won’t ask about Claude anymore. Okay?”</p>
<p>I nodded glumly, until she removed her finger. “And Yuri?” I blurted out.</p>
<p>“Hm. He’s an open book, but…” Hilda tapped the same finger against her chin. “One that nobody wants to read.” I must have made a plaintive expression, because she shook her head lightly at me. “Have you read <em>The Great Gatsby</em> any chance? Published about five, six years ago?”</p>
<p>“No, but I heard mixed reviews about it,” I answered. I also wasn’t sure if I could’ve, even if I wanted to.</p>
<p>“Not to worry, it was absolute garbage,” she declared. “Well, never mind, then; you wouldn’t get the reference. Here’s a totally seamless segue: Claude sends his kind regards and inquires as to whether he may be expecting you tonight. Not sure why, since you’ve gotten your payment.”</p>
<p>I chewed at my lip. “I’ll… see how I feel,” I hedged, though I was unsure why I felt so cagey again.</p>
<p>“Hmm, maybe you should get some rest,” she chided, eyeballing me in pajamas at four in the afternoon.</p>
<p>Yet something wasn’t sitting right with me. A sense of urgency. I blurted out, “But tell him I’ll be there tomorrow. The first of December.”</p>
<p>“Okay, whatever you say.” Hilda shuffled around awkwardly before glancing at the clock and startling. “Oopsy-daisy, I’m gonna be late for tea with Marianne—ta-ta! Gimme a call if you need anything!”</p>
<p>I need a carpenter, I thought idly as she flew out the door and slammed it, knocking loose some woodchips from the hole formerly inhabited by the lock. It might be cheaper for me to fix it myself—</p>
<p>I suddenly remembered Claude’s cash. I felt silly, shutting my bedroom door to the otherwise empty apartment, yet justified. I gingerly held the wad of green in my hands and carefully removed the golden silk ribbon and the note that was simply annotated <em>For Byleth</em> in Claude’s unmistakable lettering. Then, one leaf at a time, I began to count. Then I recounted. And again. All in all, made up of crumpled dollar bills that’d probably exchanged more handshakes than I would in a lifetime, Claude had given me $300.</p>
<p>Glancing at the clock, I realized almost subconsciously that Yuri’s café would be closing soon. I made a quick call to Alois, asking him to watch the apartment for me (though I left out the part about the door), ascertaining his arrival in under ten minutes or so. Shaking off the odd sense of betrayal that crossed my mind, I decided to take Hilda’s suggestion to heart and visit Yuri.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>I was greeted at the door by a man who would’ve felt more imposing had I not been grilled by my father of equal presence and stature just earlier in the day. He shared only the colors of his hair and eyes with Annette, but it was all I needed to make the connection and elicit an amiable first impression from him.</p>
<p>“We’re closing up in half an hour,” he grunted, though his tone implied that he wouldn’t kick me out.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Mr. Dominic, sir.” I slid into the same booth I’d used months ago to spy on Yuri. Sure enough, as soon as Annette spilled her bucket of suds, as he bent over to help he caught sight of me.</p>
<p>I waved noncommittally, meaning to signal <em>take your time</em>, but he rolled his eyes and exited the kitchen.</p>
<p>“So? How can I help you?” He had one hand on his hip, the other on the table. He was still wearing his apron, a checkered cloth stained with everything from chocolate fudge to tomato sauce. It did nothing to detract from his pale face, skin smooth as porcelain, a touch of scarlet shadowing his eyelids and lips.</p>
<p>I met his gaze, as if defiantly. “Coffee for two,” I stated.</p>
<p>“Can I get a ‘please’?” he replied. As I was about to obey he leaned forward and blew into my face. Startled, I drew back and blinked rapidly; when my vision cleared he was at the counter. He shouted something to Annette, while shedding his apron with one hand and pouring our drinks with the other.</p>
<p>Yuri soon returned with our coffees, mine in the usual nondescript white mug, his in a beige mug dotted with blue wavy v’s painted to represent birds in flight. Catching me admiring it, he cupped it in both hands almost bashfully to take a sip. The café jukebox was playing a lilting Bessie Smith solo, wafting over murmurs exchanged between Annette and her father as they cleaned the kitchen in Yuri’s stead.</p>
<p>“D’you like working here?” I asked, watching the father-daughter pair absentmindedly.</p>
<p>He hummed, thinking over his response. “It’s easier than managing the House, that’s for sure. I know exactly what to expect every day. Customers aren’t barfing on the floor from drugs or alcohol. Annette may be a klutz but it’s honestly inspirational to see her keep trying her best anyway. And if I ever have an issue with anything, I have a reliable boss whom I can turn to, instead of figuring it out myself.”</p>
<p>“But…?”</p>
<p>“But we all know I’m too beautiful to work in a café ‘til the end of my days.” He flipped his hair over a shoulder to accentuate his point. “No, but really, I work here to pay rent. Everything I earn at the House goes back to the House. Why in the world does a stripper pole cost a month’s worth of tips? Go figure.”</p>
<p>“And the other three wolves?”</p>
<p>He nodded. “Well, Balthus has his own problems. He’s a compulsive gambler. I always tell him, as long as you don’t put the House as collateral, you’re free to squander your own savings as you like… And you see Constance and Hapi at your place sometimes, right? They have gigs all over town, but the House is their home base, and they contribute to its maintenance as the need arises. Couldn’t do it without ‘em.”</p>
<p>I might’ve blushed at “your place” and he might’ve noticed, for he continued, “Did Claude give you his little spiel about the Golden Deer Speakeasy?”</p>
<p>“I… yes.” I didn’t want to focus on Claude for the moment though. “Is the House the same?”</p>
<p>“Nothing nearly as romantic. Care for a smoke?” He fished out two cigarettes and a lighter.</p>
<p>“Thank you, but I don’t use it,” I found myself repeating, but as I watched him prop a cigarette between his lips to light up, I found myself wishing I did.</p>
<p>Yuri exhaled slowly, not minding whether the smoke blew into my face or elsewhere. “When Claude and I came to New York City, we thought we could throw away our prior lives, like crumpling up yesterday’s newspapers into a little ball and tossing it into the trash. But we soon realized that if we wanted to carve our own niches, make space for ourselves in this dirty underworld, we’d be better off doing what we already knew best. And for me, I was simply lucky to find a clientele that was both repressed and rich. I wasn’t a child anymore, so I’d lost that appeal, but I found a market for a different side of my sexuality.”</p>
<p>He said all this with a bored expression, cigarette perched between his index and middle fingers. Instead of saying anything pithy I tried to wash down with coffee the sense of despair, sorrow, <em>pity</em> that welled up inside me. He flicked some ash into a neat little pile in the ashtray.</p>
<p>“Was that too depressing for a country bumpkin like you?” he smirked.</p>
<p>I shook my head fervently. I was determined to weather through the jabs and swings. “There’s nothing I can say to follow up that would be meaningful, but… I mean it when I say, you deserve better, Yuri.”</p>
<p>He snorted his disbelief, but something changed in his countenance. He opened his mouth as if to make some caustic remark, but then opted for a long drag of his cigarette instead.</p>
<p>Mr. Dominic cleared his throat at our sides. “My apologies, but the café is closing now. You’re welcome to continue your conversation here, as long as Yuri locks up afterward, but I do need to close your tab.”</p>
<p>I handed him a half-dollar. “Keep the change,” I declared, tilting my head toward Yuri. Mr. Dominic smiled in understanding as he accepted the coin.</p>
<p>“Someone’s nouveau-riche,” he commented dryly as Annette’s father disappeared behind the counter.</p>
<p>“What? I was paying for both of us,” I floundered.</p>
<p>He narrowed his eyes. “I work here, you nincompoop. All my drinks are on the house. Unless…” He leaned across the table, supporting himself with both arms, nearly brushing his nose against mine. “Is there something else you’d like to buy?”</p>
<p>The implications of his words, silky as Mockingbird’s, ran a chill down my spine. I sat there frozen, his lips an inch from mine, the smoke from his cigarette filling my vision. Then the slam of the back door of the café and thunk of the deadbolt snapped me out of his hypnotic spell.</p>
<p>“No! N-not because I don’t like you,” I fumbled. I resolved to be unwavering in my earnestness. “You’re worth way more than a coffee. There’s no price that could capture your worth.”</p>
<p>Yuri leaned back against his seat, contemplating me blushing before him. “Ten years ago words like that would’ve shattered my already broken little heart… You’re sounding more and more like Claude. Tell me,” he smothered his cigarette butt into the ashtray, “why do you keep following him like a lost fawn?”</p>
<p>I tried to counter, “Why are you so insistent that I stay away from him? Aren’t you two old friends? He took me to see your performance all those months ago. And… I think his dreams are worth believing in.”</p>
<p>“What, the whole ‘tearing down walls of ignorance’ thing?” Yuri lit the second cigarette, and I couldn’t help but inhale, appreciate, savor its fumes. “Haven’t you noticed how meticulously, how tall he builds wall after wall, separating himself from everyone around him? His little Golden Deer flock to him simply because he soars like a wyvern above them all. Earthbound beings have always worshipped the skies.”</p>
<p>“But his aspirations are for equality for everybody.” The words fell flat as the jukebox whirred to a halt.</p>
<p>Yuri blew smoke from his nostrils. “Look, you’re still fresh, so maybe you don’t see it yet. But Claude is practically nobility in the underground. He only spent a short period getting kicked around by and licking every rich man’s boots before he got picked up by the Chicago Outfit. Sure, he had a tough childhood before that, but so did I. And a field mouse is a completely different species from a sewer rat.”</p>
<p>“I don’t get it…” He waited for me to collect my thoughts. “I’m being selfish, but what do I do, then?”</p>
<p>“Claude and I are both hollow people,” he stated simply, as if I’d understand what that meant. “In fact he used to tell me that men are made of nothing more than unfulfilled dreams. Ironic, isn’t it. But you…”He reached forward and gently held my chin in his hand. His fingers were soft, his nails manicured into rounded tips. “You’re like a blank slate, waiting for the world to carve itself into your flesh. You could really become anything you desire. And perhaps that is why… why he and I both covet you so.”</p>
<p>I opened my mouth to reply, but he took the opportunity to place his lips over mine and <em>exhale</em> all that smoke. It filled my lungs, seeped into my blood, sent a warm flood of surrender all the way through to my fingertips. I couldn’t resist lapping it all up. I let his tongue knead against mine before sliding away.</p>
<p>“I’m not asking you to join the House,” he continued smoothly. “A shimmering creature of faith like you belongs aboveground. But no matter what, I won’t allow Claude to drag you down to hell with him.”</p>
<p>I wanted to protest on Claude’s behalf. Instead I leaned in for another smoky French kiss with Yuri.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>I made good on my unofficial promise to visit the Golden Deer the next day, but for the rest of my life a tiny part of me would wonder if, had I never gone, had I stopped visiting and committed to a life of law-abiding and do-gooding, if things would’ve ended up differently; or if it wasn’t bad luck, but rather fate.</p>
<p>Nothing was amiss as I stepped through those doors, every staff member playing their part like a well-rehearsed play: a fist-bump with Raphael at the door, a hat-tip to Lysithea and Linhardt at the bar, an acknowledgement of the subtle change in tempo as the band members noticed my entrance. I suppose they were already aware that Claude had me in his sights since that first evening when he introduced me to all his loyal staff members, though it never felt so stark a reality as it did in this moment.</p>
<p>Claude, ever the socialite, was surrounded by a well-dressed crowd, wearing that smile that conveyed not a single tidbit of information. I was about to make my way over, when something caught my eye, and I froze in my tracks. Suddenly all I could hear was my heartbeat drowning out the jazz and chatter.</p>
<p>I ducked behind a pillar, then peered out to confirm my observation. Indeed, Claude was chatting with none other than the “Indian princess” to whom Edelgard had brusquely introduced me. Already she was being put to work. Her hair was now tied into a long braid, and she wore a magenta ankle-length dress.</p>
<p>A tap on my shoulder made me leap six feet in the air. “Uhh, what the heck are you doing, Byleth?” Leonie asked, one eyebrow raised. “Oh! On a mission from Jeralt the Code Breaker, are you now?”</p>
<p>“No, Leonie, I, uh.” I quashed the feeling of guilt at the mention of Dad’s lofty title. “Yes, actually. Do you recognize the person with the braid that Claude’s talking to?”</p>
<p>“Oh, Petra? Linhardt brought her here yesterday, but today she came of her own accord. Can’t say I know much about her though. She clams up tighter than a river mussel if I ask her anything.”</p>
<p>Shouting a ‘thanks!’ over my shoulder, I immediately beelined for the bar and sidled up next to Linhardt.</p>
<p>“Huh?” he yawned as I approached. “Oh, it’s you again. Normally nobody sits next to me. How are you?”</p>
<p>“Why is she here?” I demanded.</p>
<p>“Fine, thank you,” Linhardt replied to himself lazily, closing his eyes as if to shut me out.</p>
<p>Lysithea moseyed over with a drink. “Huh. Didn’t know you two were so chummy.”</p>
<p>“We’re not,” he grumbled. “Byleth is harassing me.”</p>
<p>“Oh, how lovely! Keep at it,” she smiled sweetly. “Now I can finally get some studying done for my finals. Just ring me over if a guest comes over with a drink request. Got it?”</p>
<p>“Leave me to rot all alone, won’t you, Lysithea?” Linhardt muttered, stretching an arm across the bar counter and laying down his head. “So? What’s wrong with Petra?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” I answered automatically, then smacked myself in the face. “No, wait, I mean, she’s definitely not because she chose to be, is she? What does Edelgard have planned for her and the Golden Deer?”</p>
<p>“Eh, you tell me,” he shrugged with his free shoulder. “It’s true our favorite aspiring chief is keeping her against her will in New York City, because the NYPD surveils everyone who crosses the bridges or tunnels to, from, and between the five boroughs. But within the city now Petra has free rein. The only command Edelgard issued was to bring Petra here yesterday. That I did. Today, coming was her choice. I understand this is an unsatisfactory answer, but please stop bothering about it now. Ugh, I’m winded.”</p>
<p>With that he closed his eyes and himself off to any more pestering. I tried to divert my attention to the drink before me, but it was a bit too sweet and all I could think about was Claude behind me, chatting up a storm, smiling breezily, leaning a bit close, with someone not quite familiar but not quite a stranger.</p>
<p>Although I myself didn’t notice how late it was getting, the guests began to dwindle as the night dragged on. Leonie hopped over with a newspaper, demanding I read the column about Dad’s latest case closed and verify every detail down to the type of fabric used in his handkerchief. Were she not staring over my shoulder I’d be staring over hers in the opposite direction, but she kept thwacking the paper loudly and breaking my cover. I thought of the newspapers I read at Yuri’s café, stories and cartoons all muddled in my head now. Jeralt Reus Eisner watched me disapprovingly from the pages in Leonie’s hand.</p>
<p>“Psst!” Caspar poked his head between us. Leonie was about to protest until he shoved a handful of paintbrushes in our faces. Ignatz appeared behind him, shyly offering some colorful tubes of oil before skirting back to his post at the piano. Gesturing at Linhardt, Caspar’s wide grin became contagious as we each grabbed a few colors and brushes and furtively pounced on the sleeping student. Leonie and I each took an arm, allowing the mastermind to claim the treasure of his fellow officer’s pale, delicate face. I heard Lysithea muffle a guffaw from across the bar. I found myself racing to catch up in terms of decorated surface area. Although Leonie and Caspar had on their most diligent expressions, it soon became mildly painful for all three of us to keep our giggles silent and our movements light and precise.</p>
<p>All too soon Linhardt began to stir from our repeated poking and painting. “Mhrff…? What’s that smell?”</p>
<p>At that moment the three of us erupted into uproarious laughter, our mirth easily spreading to Lysithea and Ignatz as well, even Raphael who bounded over like a puppy to join in the fun. Brushing away my tears I noticed that all the guests had left, yet I’d been so absorbed in the task at hand that I hadn’t even noticed the silence that had otherwise descended upon us. </p>
<p>“What’d I miss?” Claude sidled over with a platter full of empty glasses and bottles. Then, catching sight of Linhardt, he chuckled heartily, admiring our artistic skills. Lysithea dutifully retrieved the glassware, and I could’ve sworn he mouthed a “thanks” to Leonie, who took the platter back to pick up the rest.</p>
<p>Caspar, as Linhardt’s coworker, bore the brunt of the latter’s complaining, and I felt content to watch them cajoling and joshing with each other. But Claude tapped my shoulder and beckoned, a <em>follow me</em> with a flick of his chin. I scooted off my chair and slipped after him.</p>
<p>In the corner of the speakeasy farthest from both stage and bar, Claude leaned against the wall like he was about to have a smoke. I barely caught his fleeting glance toward the bar, where Lysithea’s profile obscured from view the two police cadets still absorbed in insulting each other. Suddenly, he grinned at me and pulled me onto him, and our combined weights forced the wall in and forward and around and… I realized only after we were enshrouded in darkness that we’d swung around a disguised revolving door and ended up in a completely different area of the speakeasy.</p>
<p>“You’re not subtle at all, you know,” he chided as he lit an oil lamp dangling above our heads, revealing only a stony corridor that extended infinitely into the darkness. “The whole crew saw you sneaking your not-so-discreet looks from across the ballroom. Did you see me expertly slow-dancing in a casual semicircular fashion to ensure Petra wouldn’t turn back and catch you gawping at her?”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” I mumbled, ears burning at the mention of her. “I just needed to tell you something.”</p>
<p>He rested a hand on my shoulder. As if knowing already the answer, he asked gently, “What’s on your mind, my friend? What is it you can’t tell me in front of the others?”</p>
<p>“Claude…” How much could I say without endangering him? Or, was he already in danger by virtue of keeping me so close to him, physically and emotionally? “Have you ever heard of the Black Eagles…?”</p>
<p>He stared at me blankly. I felt my stomach drop, a stone tossed into a lake without so much a skip. What had I done?—but suddenly he threw his head back and laughed, almost as if shouting to the heavens.</p>
<p>“Have I heard of the Black Eagles? Have I heard of the latest shenanigans Edelgard Hresvelg is trying to wreak upon my beautiful little fawns and lion cubs?” He took a deep breath which transformed into a sigh. “Sorry. Ahem. Yes, I’m aware of those who frequent my speakeasy. You might’ve noticed, though, that none of them are involved in any leg of the rumrunning route. This card—” he tapped his breast pocket “—also means you’re sworn to secrecy. You rhetorically and you too, of course, Byleth.”</p>
<p>I nod fervently. “Why do you let them stay? I mean, Linhardt and Caspar seem harmless, but…”</p>
<p>“In all the years she’s been directing her little eagles to roost here, as far as I can tell it’s been to monitor inter-gang activity, since the Golden Deer Speakeasy is one of the biggest crossroads and marketplaces next to the House of Ashen Wolves. I hate to admit it, but turf wars make for bad business, and the police are ultimately better trained to handle a shootout than my ragtag herd of deer. So I’ve allowed Edelgard’s cronies to stick around. But she and I both know only I’ve got the true bird’s eye view.”</p>
<p>I let out my own sigh of relief. Then, straightening my posture, “You oughta know then that Petra is one of Edelgard’s… new recruits. Um. You’ll be careful around her, won’t you?”</p>
<p>“Of course, my friend. Thanks for looking out for the Golden Deer.” Claude placed a hand on my shoulder and met my eyes. Then, before I could respond, he drew me into a hug. Just as I placed my own hand on his back—muscular even through his suit—he pulled away, then smiled apologetically, in acknowledgement of the slight awkwardness. Even so, I felt fully at ease again.</p>
<p>“What is this place, anyway?” I inquired. “A secret wine cave?”</p>
<p>His amused smile lit up the darkness. “No, it gets too dry on this side of the country, even underground. This is actually an alternate escape route. Only us Golden Deer—oh, and Yuri—know about it. Yuri and I discovered it by accident when we were first scoping out this location for the speakeasy. If I need to chat with anyone in private, this is the place to be. You wouldn’t even hear a gunshot from the outside.”</p>
<p><em>Yuri, huh</em>. “Claude…”</p>
<p> “Mhm?” He was already headed back to the main ballroom, one hand on the revolving wall.</p>
<p><em>If you’ve known each other for so long, then why is Yuri, and everyone else, always warning me to stay away from you? </em>“Um, thanks for the money,” I blurted out instead. I couldn’t ask him, not like this.</p>
<p>He gave me a stern look, before a smile eased onto his face. “No need to thank me! You were willing to come back to the Golden Deer today, after narrowly avoiding getting turned into swiss cheese. And,” he bridged the distance between us with a rub of his thumb across my cheek, “I appreciated the company.”</p>
<p>Did he know how much weight that line carried for me, and thus how powerfully they silenced any further objection I might’ve felt? Did he mean what he said, or was he simply strategic with his words? In that moment, neither of these inquiries mattered as much as pursuing that golden silhouette, basked in the light of the speakeasy as the revolving doors swung open before him. All I could do was follow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ftr $300 in 1931 is ~$5k today :B</p>
<p>hooray, we have crossed the halfway point! if we think of the first half of exposition as climbing up a mountain, and the halfway point as the mountain peak, that means... everything is going to go downhill from here :^)</p>
<p>that being said -- i may take a short break and not post a chapter on oct 9, tho i'm not sure if then the next update would be oct 16 or 23. in short, i have a few midterm projects coming up, but w a lil luck &amp; a bit of energy that'll all work out for the better,,, but we'll see.</p>
<p>for more real-time updates (but not much more), find me @deltacapricorn on twitter! mostly RTs tho. have a good start to autumn, everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. in which Byleth rethinks some things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was never so acutely aware of the winter holidays as that winter in New York City. Paying no mind to the unusually warm autumn, the streets were decorated with plastic snowflakes and cartoon angels, and not a single tree or lamp was spared from the garish strings of rainbow lights. Storefronts boasted of “record-breaking deals!” and “prices you can’t believe!” through wall-to-wall signage in large block letters, their various wares suddenly accorded new status as gifts for loved ones, when they otherwise merited not a second glance the other 11 months of the year. It was as if at the turn of November 30<sup>th</sup> to December 1<sup>st</sup>, at the drop of a midnight dime, the entire city had been transformed into a capitalist wonderland. Amidst shuffling bodies in black overcoats and faux fur shawls, I found myself drowning my longing for the quiet austerity of <em>home</em> in the paradoxical stillness of the Golden Deer speakeasy.</p><p>“Customers don’t like staying out late when it’s cold,” Raphael explained, maintaining his cheery tone.</p><p>“And the staff?” I sensed he was sorely missing the extra company.</p><p>He started rambling while counting on his fingers. “Well, Ignatz is gonna go home for Hanukkah, so all the guests who come for his piano stop showing. Lysithea uses that as her excuse to study for her exams instead, so Leonie takes over—but, uh, there’s a reason why she’s not our main bartender… Meanwhile restaurant business picks up around the holidays, so Lorenz and Annette work longer outside of the speakeasy. Mercedes is less likely to come if Annette isn’t around, which makes Marianne worry more about bothering Dimitri with the stairs, so all three of them show up less. When Marianne stops coming Hilda gets too lazy to perform. That leaves… Sylvain and Caspar. But if Felix is in the audience, Sylvain’s busy making googly eyes at him, while Caspar’s always trying to pick a fight with Felix just for fun.”</p><p>I was mildly pleased with myself for being at the stage where I could file away all that information and find meaning in the names. Although Raphael was sorry to see me into the ballroom, the relative emptiness was all the better for me, as someone still insecure about their place in the Golden Deer family, and now equipped with a whole lot of pocket change to boot. I was happy to keep showing up.</p><p>Or, I would’ve been, were it not for the continued presence of Petra as well. On weekday nights when Caspar was presumably at the police station and Linhardt studying for his end-of-term exams, still she appeared, with that stoic yet piercing glare, the lone representative of the Black Eagle Strike Force. I couldn’t help but stare when she socialized with the Lions and Deer, her dark skin in sharp relief to the pale sea surrounding her. The worst was when Claude would grace us with his presence and she would flit over to his side like a crow, feasting upon the scraps of society. None of the other Black Eagles ever spent so much time cozying up to the fearless leader, yet none of the other staff seemed to take heed.</p><p>Furthermore I couldn’t bring myself to doubt Claude, especially after I’d warned him of her allegiance. Surely he knew what he was doing when he went along with her awkward yet objectively endearing motions, surely when he took her hand to press his lips against it was a mere courtesy, surely he stayed late into the night conversing with her out of politeness. Surely he had a plan. I tore my eyes away from the two of them, refusing to wonder if they really might be birds of a feather.</p><p>But just as I had leapt headfirst into all of this speakeasy, brewery, nightclub business without a second thought… did he really need a plan to pursue a new source of attraction and potential camaraderie?</p><p>“Byleth, my friend!” Claude called out to me, though with the dwindling crowds there was no need to raise his voice. My heart skipped a beat – I really needed to get all my emotions, good and bad, in check.</p><p>Still, I found myself grateful for the attention. “Hullo, Claude, how are you?”</p><p>He swung an arm around my shoulders and navigated us toward the bar. Leonie was away clearing tables, so Claude simply reached over the counter and grabbed a couple glasses and a bottle of whiskey.</p><p>“New mission for us,” he grinned, raising a glass to clink wholeheartedly against mine. “The House of Ashen Wolves is hosting another one of their city-famous Christmas parties this year. All are welcome! And we, the Golden Deer in collaboration with the Blue Lions, will be supplying the party juice.”</p><p>“Isn’t the House dry though?” I asked just to make sure, though I could scarcely contain my excitement. My second rum run would be my first chance to prove myself as his spotter.</p><p>Claude downed his drink and reached to pour himself another. “It is, 364 days of the year. Christmas Day is the only day when the American Museum of Natural History is closed, Chinese restaurants are filled with Jews, and New York City agrees to a collective ceasefire. Hence and ironically, the biggest party of the year at the House for all of us queers and godless heathens starts on Christmas Eve at 11:59 PM.”</p><p>“When do we set out, then?”</p><p>“December 13<sup>th</sup>. Although, that’s right after Hanukkah, so I don’t want to immediately recommission Ignatz, and I haven’t found a replacement to accompany Leonie on the riverboat yet…”</p><p>I could see it in his expression: were it not for her known status as a Black Eagle, perhaps he would’ve requested her. Shaking that thought away, I asked instead, “Why not wait a few days, then?”</p><p>He pressed his lips into a thin line, staring at his glass. “This time we’ll make the most of the darkness, with the minimum amount of moonlight necessary to see. …I won’t let anything happen to you again.”</p><p>I felt myself blush lightly, and instead of responding I contented myself with watching his hand float to the card in his breast pocket, its presence a reassurance and reminder alike. Mine, The World, I kept in my pants pocket, where it was more accessible and less noticeable.</p><p>“I don’t risk my life for this speakeasy in order to get drunk, you know; I’m here to profit off of drunks,” Claude said suddenly, adding a shrug. “That being said, parties are always more fun when everyone’s a little tipsy. And everyone goes wild at the Christmas party at the House, since it’s usually a dry zone.”</p><p>I suddenly remembered for the first time that the House of Ashen Wolves was where I met Claude for the first time. I imagined the same memory crossing his mind as I watched the corners of his lips perk upward at the same time his eyes crinkled in warm delight, feeling the momentary pressure of his glass clinking against mine. What wouldn’t I have done to preserve that moment, that rare expression…?</p><p>An all-too familiar, all-too curious voice asked, “What is this party you are speaking of?” Petra had wormed her way over and between Claude and me, one hand tugging at his sleeve with her back turned to me. “Will it be allowing for everyone? May I attend too?”</p><p>I made the mistake of leaning onto the counter to catch Claude’s response. Where I was expecting that practiced, self-assured grin, instead there was only an odd, tired smile on his face as he answered, “Of course, Petra. Everyone’s welcome at the House party. It’ll be the night of Christmas Eve…”</p><p>I didn’t know exactly what it was then that was coursing through my veins and invading my every thought at that moment, but it brought with it feelings of shame, and self-loathing. As discreetly as I could manage, I nudged my glass half-empty, along with a random coin pulled from my pocket, across the counter, slid off my seat, and decided to head out for the night. It took all my will not to look back.</p><p>-</p><p>So I thought I would try switching out the liquor for the caffeine, though any sort of substitution was sort of dishonest in retrospect, during these twilight years of Prohibition. I knew to never seek him uninvited at the House when he was “actually working,” where a jealous customer could easily and violently retaliate against any perceived monopoly over Savage Mockingbird. No, only at the café, in the light of day. In my defense I was originally called in genuinely for assistance behind the counter, when Annette took ill and Yuri recommended that Mr. Dominic hire me just for a couple days as their dishwasher. It was nothing more than fleeting moments of playfulness on his part. I’d bend down to retrieve a dishrag, ducking just out of sight from the front counter, and Yuri would crouch down and press a clandestine kiss to my cheek. Or on his way back from serving a customer, he’d brush his palm against my waist as he reentered the kitchen. They were small things, probably just ways for him to enjoy himself at an otherwise dreary service job, but they convinced me to stay with him after-hours.</p><p>The café, in stark contrast to the speakeasy, was gaining in business as the holidays rolled around: businessmen, pressured to meet deadlines before the year’s end, dropped in and out all day to relax over a hot meal or pick up quick bites and a coffee to power through their workdays. Thus those two days I worked at the café and thereafter, the last customer departed just as the early darkness settled over the city. With Mr. Dominic having left early to attend to Annette, and with my own father taking his meals at the Church if only to appease the archbishop, Yuri decided we should share dinner at the café, creating motley recipes with leftover ingredients that would’ve otherwise been tossed (so he claimed).</p><p>Over bowls of bastardized French onion soups and plates of stir-fried vegetables, Yuri would share with me his stories. I wasn’t sure at first if he simply sought to fill the silence, but as the hours passed by I realized he maybe enjoyed having someone to tell them to. I supposed that his fellow Housemates had too much on their own plates to absorb his years’ worth of pent-up thoughts and emotions. In a way I felt like an empty receptacle. And for all his talk of hollowness, he was filled to the brim with words.</p><p>“Never thought the pretty lady behind the counter would one day be regaling you with stories of her underground sexual conquests, did you?” was how he ended a particularly explicit tale one evening.</p><p>I shook my head affirmatively. As lewd and dubious as it was, it was entertaining. “But I have to ask… what happened to that guy, in the end? Did he really pass out from…?”</p><p>Yuri grinned. “I really did knock him out. Took everything but the clothes on his body. Though, that fabric probably wasn’t cheap. Maybe I should’ve grabbed his silk jacket? Hindsight’s 20/20, they say.”</p><p>I took a bite of sautéed fish—hearty and juicy thanks to Yuri’s magic. He seemed to watch with interest.</p><p>“Say, Byleth,” he began carefully. “Are you done with the speakeasy—and with Claude—for good?”</p><p>Caught off-guard, I choked a bit, though I couldn’t blame the sublimely filleted fish and its lack of bones. “We’re going to the Blue Lion Brewery again next week,” I managed to say. “I know I’ve been. Um. Spending my time here with you instead, but I… I’m just trying to process some things. That’s all.”</p><p>“Oh?” Now he seemed genuinely interested, propping up his chin in his palm. “What sorts of things?”</p><p>Those feelings of guilt and shame came tumbling back, filling the space between us. Not actually wanting to process them, I asked him instead, “Can you tell me about your relationship with Claude?”</p><p>He narrowed his eyes at me, opting to light a cigarette in lieu of an answer. This time, when he offered one, I accepted. We let the smoke fill the empty café and swirl around our emptied plates.</p><p>“…That’s a story I can’t tell in good faith without him present,” he finally answered when he’d burnt his light halfway. “In brief, yes, we used to fuck, but he always had dreams that were far too big for the two of us sharing a secondhand twin mattress. All this bullshit about equality and tearing down walls… I almost believed it, too. When he decided to make a new name for himself in New York, I followed him, physically anyway. At the very least I owe him for freeing me from the clutches of the Chicago Outfit. But spiritually, he’d left me behind long ago. I only realized after we got here that he’d do anything to make those lofty dreams come true. Including using his ‘friends.’ It’s fine if he wants to martyr himself for some idealistic, bourgeois vision of the future, but I realized I couldn’t let myself be sacrificed too.”</p><p>The more he spoke the less I realized I really knew, and the more I wanted to ask the more I knew I couldn’t, not here anyway. He took my large, ungainly hands in his delicate ones, and I instinctively gave them an affirmative squeeze. What he said after was the most clear-cut, yet the most enigmatic of all.</p><p>“Whatever you do, Byleth, whatever happens to you, remember to always put yourself first. Save yourself. There isn’t a single life on this planet more worth saving than your own. Or at the very least… don’t just throw away your life for someone else. Make your own life one worth saving. Understand?”</p><p>I didn’t, to be honest. But Yuri gripped my hands so tightly, with such an earnest expression on his face, that I could only nod in agreement. The tip of my cigarette disintegrated into ash, mixing with his.</p><p>-</p><p>The night of my second mission, though knee-deep in December, had only the mild frigidity of an autumn evening. When I stepped into Felix’s apothecary, Sylvain greeted me without so much a shiver as the breeze followed me in and nipped at my exposed cheeks. I didn’t realize I was staring at the outlines of his muscular chest, showing through his T-shirt, until he flashed a wink at me.</p><p>“Like what you see?” he grinned, flexing an arm.</p><p>I would given a snarkier reply were it not for Felix’s glare over Sylvain’s shoulder, boring into my soul. “Put on some real clothing, wouldja?” I decided on instead. “You’ll catch cold if you go out like that.”</p><p>He was about to complain in return when we were interrupted by Hilda’s loud complaints from the street, her way of disguising her glee at being able to hang out with Marianne, even for just a moment. She strode indoors with Claude dragging behind her, evidently having had his ear talked off all evening.</p><p>“Well? What are waiting for? I heard Leonie rev up her giant motorcycle in the garage, so let’s get a move on already,” she declared after a moment of exchanging glances.</p><p>I couldn’t help but avert my gaze from meeting Claude’s, in disbelief that he seemed just as content as usual to see me. As we shuffled into the garage, me trailing at the end, I knew I was being so unfair. How could I rid myself of these useless, negative emotions? If only I could shed them, like a snake its skin…</p><p>-</p><p>“Something’s been on your mind,” Claude said as soon as we crossed from New York into New Jersey.</p><p><em>No use waffling</em>, I thought. Besides, he probably already had a sense of what was bothering me. “Claude, do you remember what I told you the other night? In the… secret back room thing.”</p><p>“Uh huh.” Dead end. He was forcing me to spell it out.</p><p>“Claude, she’s—she’s a Black Eagle,” was all I could muster.</p><p>“As are Linhardt and Caspar, with whom you also spend plenty of time.”</p><p>“Yes, but those two—”</p><p>Claude interrupted with a carefully level tone, eyes still on the road. “What exactly is the issue, Byleth? You don’t find me policing your little rendezvouses with Yuri, now, do you? Excuse the phrasing.”</p><p>“I—” I was caught off-guard, but I thought I recognized it as one of his tricks to derail the conversation with an irrelevant accusation. Was he was using these tricks against me? “So you don’t care about…?”</p><p>“…Look, it’s not something you’d understand,” he said with much restraint. “It’s not… intimacy in the traditional sense. That is something about which I am much more carefree. <em>This</em> is something special.”</p><p>“I don’t think I get all the this’s and that’s.” I was being stubborn, and we both knew it. Part of me was pulling desperately on the reins. Part of me knew I’d already lost.</p><p>His hands tightened around the wheel. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’ve never been forced to <em>choose</em> between this or that, between two halves of your identity and culture and family and home. You’ve been able to float in some liminal space of gender and whiteness, but you’ve never been forced to give up your name and pride because of the circumstances of your birth, because of decisions other people made before you, because of prejudices people continue to hold against you, because of things that are completely out of your control. I bet… No, I know. You don’t know what it’s like to be an outsider!”</p><p>“…And she does,” I finished for him. He seemed startled at having raised his voice. We remained quiet for a while, listening only to the hum of the car. I made no move to counter his claims; I had no right to.</p><p>When he continued again, he was a bit more deflated. “Are you going to say you don’t see my race? Or doubt my right to be in this country?... To be honest, I’d believe it, coming from an airhead like you. And yet it would hurt, whether or not it’s the truth. Because it wouldn’t be kindness or sympathy on your part. All it would be is… is ignorance. Ignorance of who I am, and how hard I’ve worked to get here.”</p><p>“It’s not that,” I floundered, “it’s just that everyone, like Yuri and Hilda, what they say about you…”</p><p>“Stop that,” he commanded, and I fell silent. “You keep pointing fingers at other people. And right now you’re making me assume responsibility for this. What other folks say or do to you is their business, but nobody can tell you what to think or believe. So don’t make me figure out your own feelings for you.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>Claude hit the brakes so he look me dead in the eye. “If you wanna fight me, do it with your fists.”</p><p>I knew then the conversation was over. “No, I… I’m sorry, Claude. I just need some time to think.”</p><p>He withheld no snark as he replied, “Sometimes it seems like all you ever do is think, Professor Byleth.”</p><p>---</p><p>Even with our argument we’d arrived at the Lutheran church well before both sets of rumrunners. When we entered, the atrium was empty, save for a tall man with long platinum blond hair and donning red and black pastor’s robes. I faintly recalled seeing him for just a moment, locating him in my memory as the driver of the hearse and heading out with Mercedes to tally the bodies from the last trip.</p><p>“Brother Jeritza,” Claude called out to him. The man lifted his head to wordlessly stare at us. “The operation still on tonight? Where is everyone?”</p><p>Jeritza’s voice was a low rumble, making his response difficult to decipher. “Marianne is unwell; thus Mercedes is at her bedside. Without Dimitri’s presence, Ingrid prefers to await her knights in shining armor alone… But yes, the operation is still on. Perhaps you should go on ahead to the farm.”</p><p>“You got it,” Claude replied a bit too cheerfully. I was relieved that we could tacitly agree that Jeritza was… unnerving, to say the least. But he didn’t bother hiding his frustration at the mention of Marianne. He was likely worried not only about her health, but also that Hilda would require extra time with her before proceeding to the brewery with Leonie. Even so we quickly returned to the car, though I couldn’t help but wonder where Dimitri was.</p><p>The trip to the Blue Lion Brewery was spent completely in silence. I stared out my side window instead of straight ahead, avoiding any chance of catching Claude out of the corner of my eye. Whenever a familiar constellation showed itself between the trees and mountains, I thought of trying to say something to him, for myself, but then it’d slip away, and with it any sense of redemption.</p><p>Soon enough we found ourselves again at the small farmhouse. Claude had definitely been speeding, more than usual, but I had to admit that I completely understood why. My hand found its way to the door handle and I got out, unsteady on my feet, as if in a trance.</p><p>But I felt my chest viscerally tighten as I saw Ashe and Dedue emerge, an emblem of outsiders united in this little house together, and moreover watching Claude proceed. The careful, meticulously casual way he alighted from the car, the easygoing way he greeted Ashe and Dedue without so much a glance at me trailing behind, the way his voice and shoulders shrugged on that cloak of confidence and control… I hated every moment, every movement. Because the more I experienced <em>Claude</em> without that perfected guise of nonchalance, the more it hurt to see him wield it in my—no, in response to my presence.</p><p>Ashe and Dedue ushered us inside to wait for Leonie and Hilda. I barely heard their greeting, almost forgot to muster some sort of noncommittal response, didn’t hear anything they said after. The room lit by a blazing fire, yet I couldn’t focus long enough to see my surroundings. All the while Claude kept his back to me, perfectly capable of entertaining the two southerners on his own. The heat became stifling, the fire too bright for my eyes, the memory of winter winds biting my skin… I bolted for the stairs.</p><p>“Hold on, don’t go up there!” Ashe called after me, but I’d already fled the ground floor and ascended into darkness. Fumbling my way around the corridor, I sought out the nearest room with light streaming out from behind the door and I burst in, seeking refuge from myself as much as everyone else.</p><p>Dimitri and I found ourselves staring at each other, equally dumbfounded by the other’s presence.</p><p>He was first to break the silence. “Byleth,” he simply said at first, as if announcing my arrival for me. After another awkward pause, “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come upstairs. …May I be of assistance?”</p><p>As I unfroze a wave of competing thoughts flooded through my mouth. “I, ah, no, apologies, I didn’t mean to intrude, I should leave you be…” And yet when I turned back toward the door and caught the sound of Claude’s laugh—the fake, cheery one, the one that said, <em>everything is fine</em>—I froze again.</p><p>“Please, there’s no trouble. Have a seat.” Something in his eyes told me he understood, far from what was actually going on, but enough to know I wasn’t ready to go back down there yet. So I obliged.</p><p>Anticipating my question, he answered, “I know I stated previously that I do not own this property. All the same, there are moments when I feel… an almost excruciating need to be alone, and to recollect my bearings. This room is all I ask of Dedue and Ashe when that need arises, and I am ever grateful for their generosity. …I suppose you found your way here for much the same reason.”</p><p>He quietly accepted my nod. As we sat there, him returning to writing something at his bureau and letting me simply be, I took in the space in its totality. It was a small bedroom, a twin-sized bed nestled in the corner by a window that had a view of the backyard and its nondescript shed full of fermentation vats, recycled growlers, and mysterious liquids. The wardrobe, a pinewood closet, appeared only able to hold a week’s worth of clothing. A small, empty fireplace was built into the wall opposite the bed. On the mantel were knickknacks of all sorts, covered in dust more than ash, from porcelain animal figurines to postcards faded from repeated exposure to sunlight. Turning back to Dimitri, his writing desk appeared to be the most valuable object in the room, featuring intricate lions carved into its cherry wood. What held my attention was a board of cork, fastened directly above the desk at sitting eye-level.</p><p>The bulletin board was completely covered in pamphlets and newspaper articles. There was a detailed medical illustration of the spine; there were advertisements for doctors of all kinds: orthopedists, physical therapists, surgeons, chiropractors; in the center of the board were pinned two articles, one from the <em>New York Times</em> and one from <em>Time</em> about a year apart, both featuring a smiling Franklin D. Roosevelt; and in the corner I saw a photograph of a group of somber-looking, familiar children: Dimitri, Mercedes, Annette, Lorenz, Hilda, and at the very edge of the photo, a youthful Marianne, standing tall.</p><p>Dimitri caught me squinting at the corkboard and declared quietly, “Someday I’ll take her there: Warm Springs. Governor Roosevelt converted it to a rehabilitation center for polios, to learn how to use their limbs again, and all the doctors there say he himself will be walking again in the next two years.”</p><p>“What’re you waiting for?” I asked, intending to sound curious rather than accusative. “Is it expensive?”</p><p>He ran a hand through his unkempt blond hair. “Money isn’t the issue. Or, well, it is, but in a rather roundabout fashion, Great Depression notwithstanding… It’s a long tale. I reckon you haven’t the time?”</p><p>I glanced at the door, listening to Claude poking fun at Dedue and Ashe, filling in the pauses between them with imagined conversations, thinking too of the early evenings spent with Yuri. “It seems we’ll be here a while yet, since we, um, arrived quite early, while Leonie and Hilda might be a while. So if you’d like, I’d be willing to hear you out. It’ll help me take my mind off of… things.”</p><p>“Alright then.” He appeared to be simultaneously bursting at the seams and afraid to reveal anything. “The South only holds painful memories for me. You see, the Blaiddyds once comprised the wealthiest family in Georgia, in no small part due to our participation in the transatlantic slave trade. …After slavery was abolished, do you know how plantations in the south made up for the loss of labor?”</p><p>I shook my head. The melancholy expression that crossed his face seemed all too natural for him.</p><p>“Plantation owners swapped out African slaves for Oriental coolies. In theory they were wage workers; in practice, they were exported by British and American merchants as a fresh source of labor, from trading outposts in India and China. Many were arrested under the false pretense of colonial law enforcement and had no say in where they were shipped to. Just like the Africans, if they did not perish on the voyage to the United States, once they arrived they were stripped of all identity and history.</p><p>“Felix’s grandfather was brought to Georgia this way, and when his son, Rodrigue, was born, he was separated from him to become my father’s manservant. Then, when they were in their 20s, the Cuban War for Independence occurred, after which the United States essentially bought out Cuba’s agricultural economy. Sylvain’s father, effectively exiled from his home, sought economic opportunities in Georgia. At the turn of the century, these three men decided to abandon the South they found so irredeemable and to test their luck in California. And it was Ingrid’s father who first housed them when they arrived.”</p><p>When he paused for breath I asked, “So you all grew up together in California?”</p><p>He cast his gaze downward. “Those three, yes, but… not I. My father received news that my uncle was vying for the Blaiddyd inheritance in order to invest in the British-controlled opium trade in China. At that time my uncle was a stockbroker on Wall Street, so off we went, back across the country, to confront him. We never returned to California, for Brooklyn was where my father met my stepmother, a lovely Southern belle and also a transplant from Georgia. And Brooklyn was where I schooled for the better part of my adolescence, alongside Marianne, Hilda, Annette, Mercedes, and Lorenz.”</p><p>My own eyes stole back to the photograph on the corkboard. “Then the polio epidemic struck…”</p><p>He nodded. “Annette and Lorenz were afflicted, too, did you know? With Mercedes’s care round-the-clock—she aspired to be a nurse, back then—they recovered fully. But Marianne…” Dimitri sighed. “Hilda was devastated. She thought it was her fault, somehow. From then on she kept a distance from everyone else. As if she never wanted to have expectations of anybody else, or anybody of her.”</p><p>I thought of Hilda’s self-designation as Claude’s “best friend.” I supposed they were like peas in a pod, in their shared refusal to let others get too close. <em>Too close? Or rather…</em></p><p>“My stepmother was struck as well,” he continued. “And when she requested we return home to Georgia, of course my father couldn’t refuse. We were back only a month when…”</p><p>He stopped speaking for what seemed like an age. I nudged him gently. “You don’t have to go on.”</p><p>“I must. Though it may help me more than it would you.” Dimitri balled his hands into fists. “…Someone set fire to our property. My father perished and my stepmother’s body was lost to the flames. And the newspapers… ” He began trembling, and I took his hand in mine. “Somehow my uncle grabbed ahold of the story, twisted it beyond recognition, and spread the falsehoods like wildfire. He scapegoated colored folk, depicting them as taking revenge on a benevolent descendant of Southern aristocracy. I was left behind to sweep the ashes of the Blaiddyd family’s former glory while my uncle wrestled with lawyers in Georgia over the terms of the will. At some point I became so fed up with my past that I fled to Tulsa. But of course I brought with me this curse, the weight of my family’s complicity in the global slave trade. For the circulation of the newspaper story, compounded with others, and my inability to bring justice to those victims… all these factors fan the flames for the Tulsa race massacre, five years later.”</p><p>Tulsa… wasn’t that where Dedue’s family was…? I suddenly understood Ashe’s story. When I looked up I saw tears streaming down Dimitri’s face. I had to use both hands to pry open his fists, one after another.</p><p>“Nothing I do will bring back my parents, Dedue’s relatives, nor the countless other Black lives lost in my name,” he whispered. Then he barked out a harsh, uncharacteristic laugh. “What does the Blaiddyd heritage mean when all it’s done is cause death and destruction? …I’m too much of a coward to even show my face in Georgia; God knows my uncle will be out for my head if he discovers I’ve returned. He’s already spent thousands on legal fees simply to prolong the battle. Truly, I am the weakest one of all...”</p><p>Before either of us realized, I was hugging him tightly, holding his head to my chest as he stared forward at his desk, teardrops dotting his documents. His hands gradually navigated toward my arms, letting them rest there as he leaned into me. From below the three men’s murmurings wafted upward like a pleasant fragrance for the ears. We stayed like that for not a moment too short—a man with a genealogy too heavy to bear alone, and me, whose history only really began with me.</p><p>A gentle squeeze of his hand indicated it was okay for me to let go. “I apologize for losing my composure there,” he said quietly after a while. “But I do… I must return someday, if only to liquidate the assets still being kept in my name, but especially if it’s to help Marianne, and our shared friends by extension.”</p><p>I shook my head, then nodded. “It’s alright. Thank you for telling me your story… I should be the one apologizing, for intruding on you in the first place and asking personal questions.”</p><p>“No, it was my decision to share,” he declared, ending that discussion. “You’ve become a part of the Golden Deer family, and the Blue Lions welcome you as well. So I felt that you deserved to know.”</p><p>I blushed lightly, glancing away from him and at his desk. There was another photo I hadn’t noticed before—Dimitri, Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid, all grinning and waving at the camera. It must’ve been taken shortly before he’d left for New York. I wondered if they, too, had heard this story, if and how they chose to comfort Dimitri in that relayed moment of crisis, if they missed that confident boyhood smile.</p><p>“Byleth.” His voice wrested me from my thoughts. “…Did something happen between you and Claude?”</p><p>I cringed slightly. “He called me—I mean, it’s true, I am ignorant, about him and his background. We were actually fighting about it on the way here. That’s why… I’m avoiding him.”</p><p>He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “But you two are …quite close. Fighting about what, exactly?”</p><p>“It’s just that everyone around him has warned me not to ask to much about his background, but apparently that’s exactly what upsets him. I don’t know if I can still ask now, never mind how I’d ask.”</p><p>“I see.” Dimitri leaned back in his chair, eyeing his bulletin board. “Dedue once told me, ‘erasure isn’t equality.’ …I will never be able to empathize with his lived experiences, but understanding that concept is the closest I may ever get.”</p><p>I looked at him curiously. Two refined sapphires stared back. “How do you mean?”</p><p>“Well,” and he hesitated, mulling over his explanation. “I suppose the most neutral way of putting it is that we must acknowledge the darkness of our pasts if we wish for better shared futures. But for Claude in particular, I’d venture that the reluctance of his closest acquaintances to speak of his history is the very phenomenon he’s been trying to overcome this entire time. And my assumption is that it just so happens that the outsider to the speakeasy was the first one to ever really broach the subject with him.”</p><p>Outsider to the speakeasy… it took a moment too long for me to realize I no longer held that epithet. But with that realization, so too did the events of the past few weeks all become comprehensible.</p><p>“Do you know what he… what his background is?” I asked without thinking.</p><p>Dimitri gave me a wry smirk. “Regardless of whether I do, I am not the one you should be asking.”</p><p>“Right. Of course. Apologies.”</p><p>“There’s no need to apologize, but what I told you when you first visited this area still stands. Every choice is yours and yours alone to make. But—speaking as Dimitri, not the Blue Lions—I’ll cover you.”</p><p>I wanted to feel warmth and gratitude, but instead I felt a bit hollow, like I was fading, and very undeserving. “Dimitri…” his name slipped off my lips before I’d fully formulated my question.</p><p>“Yes, Byleth?” As he faced me the crescent moon framed his golden hair, casting it in a silvery hue.</p><p>“How do I…” I realized I was a bit overwhelmed, and that was precisely the problem. “How do I stop feeling so much? All these negative emotions—the vitriol, the envy, the frustration of incomprehension, of never really understanding the ones you love… they just feel so… unnecessary. Unwanted. Useless.”</p><p>I could envision, sitting in his place, Claude chewing on the inside of his lip or Yuri twirling a cigarette between his fingers as they pondered the appropriate response for a blank slate like me. But before me sat Dimitri, and instead he stared straight ahead, unseeing, and answered without missing a beat.</p><p>“When you lose the ability to feel emotions ‘so much’ as you say, you end up losing all of them. Not only the sadness and anger, but also the joy and wonder. There is only a numbing void. If it is truly a choice for you to make, I entreat you to choose otherwise… Is that a request I can make of you, Byleth?”</p><p>The silence that settled over us was gentle, only a shade of unease, but he accepted it, as he accepted his history. It was short-lived either way. The staircase began to creak with slow, deliberate footsteps, as if the noisemaker was signaling for my departure that way. I decided to let that be the case.</p><p>“Dimitri?” I repeated as I stood up. We made eye contact, and for the first time I saw the moonlight reflected in those stormy seas of blue, refusing to be swallowed up by his despair. “Thank you.”</p><p>Dimitri’s smile was wholly different from Claude’s, Yuri’s, even Edelgard’s in her brief moment of fondness. I understood now why he normally bore such a tight-lipped expression; for when he let it go, the curve of his mouth and the slope of his eyebrows revealed so much. His was a smile of vulnerability.</p><p>“Go on,” he whispered, so quietly it could’ve been the wind. He turned back to his desk, saving me the trouble of any more awkward goodbyes. With one last glance at that blue lion, back arched gently over his writing, blonde hair obscuring the pale skin of his nape, I exited. Out and down the stairs I went.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hope you enjoyed storytimes w the princely boys :B</p><p>also thank you for being patient w me! it might be easier on me moving forward to shift to posting a new chapter every 3 weeks,,, &amp; also nonbinary byleth week is coming up, nov 5-11, which i wanna try my best to be a part of! andbutso if i am able to do every 2 as before, i suppose it can then be a pleasant surprise. you can follow me on twitter @deltacapricorn for upd8s (&amp; mostly RTs otherwise).</p><p>ps, i've been channeling a lot of my inspired energy into a claudeleth one-shot which i'm hoping to put up in the next few days... :O anyway, see y'all later, stay safe, &amp; hope you enjoy the rest of october!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. in which Byleth finds themself at a loss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: gun violence</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We were sitting together at the crook of the river, where we almost lost our lives less than a month ago. The car headlights were off, the motor stilled. We perched upon the same running board, shoulders brushing against each other, his Winchester rifle spanning both our laps. Save for the occasional gust of wind we barely even heard the sound of each other breathing, so tightly we held in our breaths in anticipation of the unknown enemy. Neither of us had spoken since we left the brewery.</p><p>Our bodies were warm, pressed together like that, but when he finally spoke his word was ice: “Spot.”</p><p>I scrambled, as quietly as possible, to position myself over the hood of the car, scope in hand. Claude was right about the sliver of moon dangling just overhead—it added enough to the ambient starlight to make out the outlines of the forest and riverbank, but wasn’t strong enough to cast any revealing glints upon the yellow coat of our car. Still, I strained my ears and eyes both as I surveilled our surroundings.</p><p>My heart stopped as I caught sight of a faint beam of light, arching over a hill and illuminating a dirt path as it traveled. Suddenly the sounds of the flowing river and winter wind seemed nearly deafening as I struggled to identify the barely audible rumbling of the car motor. It had to be five hundred yards away.</p><p>“Someone’s coming,” I whispered. “Five… now four hundred yards, incoming, northbound.”</p><p>Claude immediately leapt to his feet, rifle in hand. “Hold steady, and fix the scope on them,” he commanded, and I felt the barrel of his rifle slide gently onto my shoulder. Instinctively I wanted to protest, but I swallowed my trepidation and continued tracking the car. I felt the barrel shift as I guided my scope around the winding roads. He was genuinely shooting blind, dependent completely on me.</p><p>“Three hundred yards.” The car crested a hill, its motor now audible, headlights scarcely dancing past us.</p><p>“Can you see who’s inside?”</p><p>I squinted but the lights got in the way. “Definitely at least two people, including the driver. Are they…?”</p><p>He understood. “Nobody comes along these roads this late at night except for a very specific reason. And they’re aware as anybody that Christmas is coming up. It’s not impossible that someone leaked info about our exact timing… but it’s equally likely that they’ve been patrolling the Delaware River nightly.”</p><p>“Two hundred. How close are you gonna let them approach?” I was getting a little nervous.</p><p>As emotionlessly as he held his voice, he placed a reassuring hand on my other shoulder. “Don’t worry, just close enough to injure and hopefully scare ‘em off. If they come any closer, though, that’s on them.”</p><p>With that he slid a thick pair of earmuffs over me. I couldn’t hear a thing. But as the car closed in, turning off its own headlights, I focused only on its silhouette and notified him: “One hundred yards!”</p><p><em>CRACK!</em> Even with the earmuffs I felt the blast reverberate in my skull. I faintly made out shattering glass and murmurs that must’ve been yells of surprise. It took all my willpower not to turn toward Claude in amazement, instead holding as still as possible. But his aim was true, without even directly looking.</p><p>“You got ‘em!” I couldn’t hear if I was shouting or not, but I was excited all the same. But in response he covered my mouth with his hand. His fingers were freezing, yet he was able to pull the trigger. He used one icy finger to tap my scope. I obliged, peering through the lens again, and gasped.</p><p>Indeed their windshield had been destroyed, but now they were accelerating full throttle toward us. The driver leaned forward in their seat while their passenger dangled out the window, aiming right at us—</p><p>Claude lifted my earmuff briefly: “Point me at the hood of the car. I’ll blow out their engine.”</p><p>The front half of their car exploded in a burst of flames, but not before they’d gotten close enough to locate us. The driver was incapacitated and would probably suffocate from the fumes if they weren’t rescued in time, but the passenger abandoned their driver and made a mad dash toward us. No longer needing my scope, Claude exchanged bullets freely with them. I could only watch in awe as he displayed his incredible reloading speed, his face betraying no emotion, only concentration, as he aimed to kill.</p><p>Once that figure fell to the ground, Claude straightened up and began making his way over. As I slipped off the earmuffs I only caught the tail end of his sentence—“get in the car.” Listening to the crackle of the fire and the crunch of dead grass beneath his feet, I couldn’t help but feel something was off—</p><p>I whipped around, just in time to catch sight of a third person, running toward Claude with a pistol and firing wildly. I realized Claude was effectively trapped—he couldn’t tell which way to run to avoid the haphazard bullets, but his rifle was too ungainly and far-ranged to take the unanticipated third down.</p><p>“Claude!” I shouted. As they both swiveled toward me, I flung my pistol at Claude. Its polished handle caught the glint of the moon for just a split second, but it was enough for Claude to see and catch it. Before the last enemy could react, he’d cocked the gun and fired.  The person crumpled to the ground.</p><p>Neither of us moved, holding our breaths, listening for any other signs of life.</p><p>A foghorn bellowed through the trees, and we both looked over to find the riverboat, chugging along slower than usual, rounding the bend with extra caution. Perhaps Hilda’s and Leonie’s decreased pace helped saved all our skins this time around. They waved as they glided by, pushed more by the flow of the river than the boat’s own energy, seemingly blissfully unaware of what had just transpired.</p><p>As my gaze followed their relatively carefree meander down the river, Claude reappeared at my side. “The bodies have no identification whatsoever,” he reported back. “No gang symbols, no nothing.”</p><p>“Do you think they were working together with the guys from last time?”</p><p>“Dunno.” He slipped his rifle into the backseat, and held out the pistol to me. “…Nice work, my friend.”</p><p>“Oh… thanks.” I took it gingerly. Even though it had just fired a round it was cold to the touch, as if there were no warmth in Claude’s hands. I could almost hear the question on the tip of his tongue—<em>why didn’t you shoot instead of throwing it to me?</em>—though I don’t know if I could’ve answered it myself. I was well within shooting range, clearly my sight was good enough, and he was the one in danger—</p><p>A hand clapped against my shoulder snapped me out of my thoughts. “You’re thinking too much again,” Claude said, and he cracked a grin for the first time all night. I couldn’t help but smile back, finally letting his compliment sink in, as reluctant as it might’ve been. He cocked a thumb over his shoulder, signaling for us to get back in the car, and perhaps as well to simply drop the subject.</p><p>-</p><p>The drop-off and pickup of goods at the Lutheran church went thankfully smoothly, though we couldn’t stop Jeritza from driving off alone to pick up the bodies, insisting at least on a Christian burial for them. After seeing off the Blue Lion trio by truck and Hilda and Leonie by motorbike, we too headed home. Had I become immune to the deaths that occurred in real-time, mere yards away from me? Though I felt next to nothing about the shootings, I was still intent on recovering my relationship with the shooter.</p><p> “Claude?” I waited for acknowledgement, but there was none. I went ahead anyway. “Can I ask you—"</p><p>“You get one question.”</p><p>I thought back to that night where we lay, splayed out by that hidden pond, where Claude spilled out his history for me, although in condensed form. It was just a bit too cold now to visit again, though I was sure Claude wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. But when was that moment of rupture in his worldview…</p><p>“What happened in 1923 that cost your father his citizenship?”</p><p>Claude raised one eyebrow at me, then both. A seamless transition from doubt to surprise. “You recall that little detail in my narrative, yet you have no clue what it’s all about? You’re a curious fellow.”</p><p>“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” I hedged, watching his lips tighten into a narrow line.</p><p>“You know the Supreme Court?” he asked, as if it were an up-and-coming baseball team. “First in 1922, it ruled that anyone who wasn’t born here and isn’t Caucasian can’t become a citizen. Then in 1923, it further decided that even if you are technically Caucasian, as long as a bunch of white people agree that you aren’t white, you can never become an American citizen. And so it retroactively rescinded the citizenship of people across the country—laborers, farmers, teachers, doctors, priests, people who’ve assimilated, people who’ve fled their homelands, people who just got here seeking the American Dream, people who’ve lived here all their lives knowing the Dream is dead… People like my father.”</p><p>Slowly parsing this history, I summarized, “So they codified into law the prejudice of the common man.”</p><p>“The common <em>white</em> man,” he corrected. “In this country, if you don’t have citizenship, you don’t exist. What’s more, if you got your citizenship revoked, you don’t <em>deserve</em> to exist. And white folk will come after you just for the hell of it. Just to show you who has power, and from whom it’s been taken away.”</p><p>“…Where’s your father now?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said matter-of-factly. “But the fact that you get asked more often where you’re from than I do… you see that my otherness erases my origin story. Like I’m not human enough to have one. Children born of miscegenation are seen as spawns of the devil. They’re to be feared and condemned. And those of us who ‘pass,’ it’s both a matter of luck and fate. It’s key to survival, but a burden to life.”</p><p><em>Fear, huh</em>. I thought of the moon in his pocket, and the world in mine. “And you, Claude?”</p><p>“And me, what?”</p><p>Dimitri’s words echoed faintly in my mind. I realized I didn’t know what I was meaning to ask, after all.</p><p>“That was more than one question, by the way. Just thought I’d let you know.” His eyes were fixed on the road but he had on a half-smile, one side of his lips crooked upward, as if amused by his observation.</p><p>Less than a month ago we’d driven down this same route, dried tears on my cheeks, pledging to grow stronger. If that meant banishing the hurt and anger, so be it. “I’ve never had any reason to fear you, Claude. You keep saving me, again and again. Nor do you have any obligation to tell me anything about yourself you don’t want to… So I still want to be your spotter. I… I still want to be friends. Just friends.”</p><p>Claude brought the car to a halt and pulled the handbrake. We were in the middle of nowhere, in the ambiguous countryside of the tri-state area. Still, to stop without even pulling off to the side like that…</p><p>“Is that all you want?” he asked, and when our eyes met I saw no anger or sadness. Just a weary friend.</p><p>Seeing him like that there was only one thing I could do. I leaned forward, grasping his arm for balance. When he made no indication of refusal, I gave him a light kiss on his cheek.</p><p>In turn he placed a gloved hand on the back of my head and gently pulled me forward and into a deep kiss. His lips were cold but his warmth, his feelings were welling up from within him and flowing into me. I cupped his cold cheek with my palm, hoping to transmit some of my warmth as well, and he leaned into my touch and his tongue pushed just a bit further between my lips. If I could’ve, I would’ve held onto that moment, held us in that position, for as long as humanly possible. He grew warm to the touch.</p><p>-</p><p>As we crossed from New Jersey into Manhattan, the dim lights of the near-empty George Washington Bridge passing intermittently overhead, he spoke once more, so quietly that I almost missed it.</p><p>“When spring comes back ‘round, we can spend some time again at that little pond I showed you. Maybe even go in the daytime for a picnic or something. We can invite the crew, or go by ourselves.”</p><p>And I said to him, “I’d like that, very muchly.”</p><p>Maybe he already knew back then, and maybe we’d both come to regret it, but little did I know that that would be the last time we’d ever make that trip, together to the Blue Lions Brewery and back.</p><p>-</p><p>The Golden Deer was closing early again. Though this year the snowfall was minimal, the chilly winds reminded New Yorkers of the previous year’s storms, and the blizzard in Boston certainly seemed as apt a warning for the average salaryman to head for home right after work. The staff presence dwindled in response—tonight there were only Leonie at the bar, Ignatz at the piano, and Lysithea borrowing a corner table to study in peace through the night. Since the rumrunning trip, not only Petra, but in fact all the Black Eagles and the Blue Lions alike had virtually disappeared from the speakeasy. Raphael was free to roam the ballroom without any offending guests to monitor, but he simply perched on a stool near Ignatz and fumbled in quiet concentration with some sort of jewelry project, dwarfed by his large hands.</p><p>It had been like this the past couple weeks, where the speakeasy was filled only occasionally with a lilting piano melody as hushed as freshly fallen snow, and no more of the hustle and bustle of merrymaking patrons and networking gangsters. Yet Claude still came to surveil his territory every evening, and I still came to accompany him. To say that there was something unspoken between us would’ve been a slight exaggeration, but looking back, I cherished those nights where we’d sit together at the bar, sometimes chatting about our goals or updates on the underground or the changing faces of our friends, sometimes not a word passing between us for over an hour. The other Deer simply let us be.</p><p>Tonight was, at first, a silent night. We were sitting at a round table instead of the bar this time. Claude had wordlessly fixed a couple drinks for us, two shots of honeyed whiskey, and we were contemplating the rough spheres of ice in our glasses as warmth spread through our guts. Under the table I accidentally grazed my knee against his. But he didn’t indicate any displeasure, so I let them, us, lean together.</p><p>“Hello, my lovelies,” Yuri purred, his breath tickling our necks and startling us both. “As per Byleth’s request I’ve got intel for Claude. I would’ve asked Hilda to deliver the message, but she’s gone with Lorenz to visit Marianne in Easton.”</p><p>He reached for a chair to pull over, but Claude gently grasped his forearm and, with a tilt of his chin, beckoned us all for the secret room. My heart fluttered a little at the thought of being in that dimly lit, closed space together with the both of them, but I hushed it and wordlessly rose to follow them there.</p><p>As the revolving door swallowed all three of us together without fanfare, I watched Yuri take in the surroundings, resituating himself in this strange cellar once familiar to him. I caught Claude eyeing him as well, and I wondered if he was remembering when they’d first discovered this secret lair, together.</p><p>Yuri made his way over to a cranny in the wall to lean against, like a bird returning to its nest. “Those goons who were gunning you down on Thanksgiving Eve?” he stated casually. Claude and I nodded, and I felt the back of his hand brush against mine. “Good news for you: it wasn’t the Mafia, nor the Mob.”</p><p>Instinctively I felt relief, but Claude was more on top of it. “The bad news, then…?”</p><p>“They were plainclothes NYPD officers.” After a pause, he clarified, “Not anyone we know, though.”</p><p>It took me a moment of studying their composed expressions to realize that the pounding heartbeat, almost audible in the dark, belonged to me. After everything with the Black Eagles, Dad’s investigations, Edelgard’s warning still ringing in my ears… I ventured to ask, “Are we… we’re compromised, then?”</p><p>Claude snorted, seemingly disaffected. “What say you, Yuri? Enlighten us with your keen analysis.”</p><p>“Well, given the point of interception and your description of the attack, it’s likely that the location of the Blue Lion Brewery remains safe. That also suggests, however, that it’s not the rumrunning operation they’re targeting. Rather…” Yuri interrupted himself with an audible flick of his Zippo, briefly illuminating his pale face as he lit a cigarette. “I believe it’s you they’re after, Byleth. Or perhaps the Code Breaker.”</p><p>“Me?” I said stupidly. Dad, I could understand, given his recent progress on investigating the turf wars.</p><p>Yuri blew smoke in my face. “It would explain why Edelgard thought it appropriate to retrieve you from the House following the assault. Perhaps she wanted a look at the survivor of her foiled assassination.”</p><p>“Assassination?!” I looked to Claude for guidance, only to find him fixated on Yuri. When he caught me watching him, though, he only gave me a playful wink in acknowledgement.</p><p>“Word has it the Code Breaker’s close to uncovering the full extent of the activities of both the Vestras and Varleys,” Claude explained coolly. “If the family bases are uncovered, they can just change up their hiding spots; but God knows what Edelgard <em>wouldn’t</em> do to keep their connection to the NYPD a secret.”</p><p>A somber silence settled over us as we mulled over what lengths indeed Edelgard would go to, if only to realize that far-off dream of expunging all corruption in New York City’s civil services. It seemed almost inevitable that the denizens of the dark, citizens of the abyss like Claude and Yuri, and me by association, would be wrapped up in all of this; but it also seemed almost unfair that Dad had to be, too.</p><p>“Well then. It was lovely chatting with you both; I feel like we haven’t gotten the chance to be together like this very often, so this was nice,” Yuri remarked, somewhat slyly. “But I suppose I must be going—”</p><p>“Yuri!” Claude and I both said, to everyone’s surprise. Then the two men turned to me expectantly.</p><p>“Oh, um…” I floundered. “Take care, okay? I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you, both of you.”</p><p>“Of course, I’m the Lord of the Underground. You just focus on keeping yourself safe, friend. And you,” Yuri flicked the butt of his cigarette at Claude, “what did you want?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing,” he replied airily, linking his hands behind his head. “I just wanted to ask if the House party was still on, since I don’t want Byleth’s and my efforts in procuring the booze to all go to waste.”</p><p>“You cheeky ass,” Yuri smirked. “Yes, it’s still on. We’ll just have to be extra vigilant about Edelgard and her cronies, that’s all. I’ll be seeing you both there then, yeah?”</p><p>The last line I knew was directed more toward me, so I fervently nodded.</p><p>“Good. Now, would one or both of you gentlepeople get the door for a young lady? Thank you kindly.”</p><p>Claude and I exchanged glances briefly, exchanged small smiles too, and we both went to oblige.</p><p>-</p><p>“Just like how I remembered it,” Claude declared upon entering the House of Ashen Wolves, as if he hadn’t visited in years rather than months. As he spent time cajoling with Balthus I scanned the room. One by one I checked off their names: all the Golden Deer and Blue Lions were present. Marianne was difficult to pick out amongst the crowd, but the brightly costumed Lorenz and Hilda at her side gave her away; and Dedue and Ashe had made the long drive over, relieving Dimitri’s discomfort in the crowd.</p><p>Curiously, I saw not a single Black Eagle, even though Petra had specifically inquired and Claude had mentioned that at least the regulars to the Golden Deer attended every year. Perhaps that should have set off alarm bells, but I found myself stopping myself mid-sentence from interrogating Claude about it. Superficially I hoped that they knew they were unwelcome, and subconsciously I didn’t want to trespass upon the fragile trust with Claude that I had only recently regained. I was sure he’d notice anyhow.</p><p>“C’mon, Byleth! The party’s just getting started.” Claude grabbed my hand and began leading me into the crowd. Balthus gave me two thumbs up and a toothy grin as I passed him. And I realized I was all too happy to let myself be pulled along, just like when Claude and I first met. I hoped for a merry Christmas.</p><p>-</p><p>It was about twelve minutes to midnight when I realized I was alone in the crowd. Savage Mockingbird was at the bar, watching with half-lidded eyes and much amusement as patrons fought over the right to buy her a drink, though she seemed fully relaxed for once. Claude was chatting with Dimitri, the two men almost regal in their upright posture and the way they carried their glasses as they watched over the masses. On the other side of the room I could see Raphael hoisting Lysithea onto his shoulders to get a better view of Ignatz and his accompanying band playing onstage. Meanwhile Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid had commandeered a corner to themselves, exchanging drinks and laughter.</p><p>I felt my heart sink into my chest when I suddenly caught sight of Dad, weaving his way through the throng. As I watched his hawk eyes scan the room I couldn’t make up my mind as to whether I should hide or greet him directly. Just as I’d finally decided to creep away, his eyes fell on me, and from across the room I could see his thick brows furrow. No use hiding now; I began making my way toward him.</p><p>“Byleth!” Dad exclaimed as we got within shouting distance. At the sound of my name I saw both Claude and Yuri turn out of the corner of my eye. Neither seemed alarmed, though, so I proceeded toward him.</p><p>“Hey, Dad,” I answered, “having fun?”</p><p>His expression morphed from amusement to disbelief, then to the closest approximation of fatherly concern his grizzled countenance could offer. “Listen, kid, it’s not safe here. We received an anonymous tip that the warring factions of the Vestra Mafia and the Varley Mob will be here tonight. You gotta go.”</p><p>My heart began pounding in my ears, drowning out the jazz and chatter. “No, Dad, this is a safe space. Christmas Day is safe.” <em>No, that’s not what I wanted to say. What I want is for </em>you<em> to leave and be safe</em>.</p><p>Of course he only shook his head at me. “You know that’s not how it works in the underground. Now seriously, if you don’t leave I’m going to put a call through to Alois and have him pick you up as soon—"</p><p>“Mr. Jeralt! The Code Breaker! It’s me, Leonie—do you remember me, sir?”</p><p>We both turned to find Leonie, dressed in a slick pinstripe suit with a bright orange necktie, beaming up at Dad. His eyes searched her face briefly before finally placing a name to the face and voice.</p><p>“Oh, Leonie! You used to sell newspapers on the corner of 5<sup>th</sup> Avenue and 53<sup>rd</sup>, didn’t you? You were always a big help when I needed someone completely unsuspicious yet reliable to gather intel for me.”</p><p>“You made her do what?” I gaped. “And when she was just a child?”</p><p>Leonie pretended to shrug it off, but she couldn’t hide her glowing pride. “It was no sweat, really! Well, I guess there was that one time I narrowly escaped the police chasing after me, only by the skin of my teeth—you remember that, Mr. Jeralt, sir, don’t you?”</p><p>To my surprise Dad laughed heartily and added, “Now that you mention it, I also remember when you hijacked one of their motorbikes and zoomed all the way to the Church of Seiros, and when the police caught up they wanted to arrest <em>me</em> because they couldn’t believe a kid could hotwire a motorbike!...”</p><p>I decided I’d leave them to it; Dad actually seemed pleased to be able to really chat with someone other than me or the folks from the Church of Seiros for once. In the meantime, I’d lost sight of both Claude and Yuri. Weaving through the crowds I knew I had to find one of them, or even Dimitri, and tell them—</p><p>A hush spread over the room like an invisible plague. All eyes turned toward the double doors of the House, which had just swung shut behind an odd pair of pairs, who generated a buzz in the atmosphere. The pair I sought, Claude and Yuri, was still nowhere to be found, which was also alarming. I did find Hapi and Constance, though as I approached them the gravity of the situation began to dawn upon me.</p><p>I found Hapi trembling at the sight of the newcomers. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “It’s Cornelia, the matriarch of the Vestra family, and her butler, Solon. I thought I’d never have to see them again…”</p><p>Constance, too, was deeply shaken at the sight of them, grabbing Hapi’s hand for mutual reassurance. “And that’s Thales and Kronya, chief scientists of the Varley family. What are they doing here…?”</p><p>The crowd parted to allow Balthus through. He towered over the four mob bosses, but they stood their ground, budging not an inch even as he leaned down and held his face inches away from theirs.</p><p>“Sorry, but this is a private party, and you’re not on the guestlist.” He noisily cracked his knuckles. “I’d like to kindly ask you all to see yourselves out, and if you don’t, I’ll roll up my sleeves and do it myself.”</p><p>“Oh?” the haughtier of the two women, Cornelia, smirked. With that simple utterance the lackey beside her, Solon, whipped out a handgun, eliciting gasps from the crowd. Balthus easily disarmed him by swiping both arms across his wrist in a X formation. But before he had the chance to turn around, the nimble Kronya leapt up from behind while his back was turned and stabbed him with a kitchen knife. Balthus roared and tried to swipe at her, only then to have Thales wordlessly shoot him in the thigh.</p><p>The crowd was torn between screaming and falling into a terrified silence, watching Balthus kneel in agony. Kronya had the mercy and the gall to leave the knife sticking out from his back, knowing that he would be well aware that too much movement would dislodge it and hasten his death by blood loss.</p><p>A resolute <em>click-clack</em> announced Yuri’s presence in the middle of the House. Though he’d kept the heels, he’d shed his sequined dress for a pantsuit that allowed for both increased agility and hidden weaponry.</p><p>“This is a neutral zone,” Yuri stated firmly, glossy lips held in a tight line. “All are welcome, and all means all—except for anyone and everyone threatening my guests and family members.”</p><p>Thales cackled at the show of authority. “We have business with Jeralt Reus Eisner, the Code Breaker. He is the only one we wish to see tonight, but anyone who gets in our way will be swiftly immobilized.”</p><p>My hand flew to my breast pocket, thumbing Claude’s pistol, but Dad grabbed my wrist just as quickly.</p><p>“No,” he said firmly, holding my gaze. “I will not let you become a murderer. No matter what.”</p><p>“But Dad—”</p><p>“There you are.” The four bosses began advancing slowly toward us, each brandishing a lethal weapon.</p><p>Yuri stepped into their path. “For the last time I’m asking you all, as politely as I can, to get the fuck out.”</p><p>“You ought to fly away and save yourself, little bird.” Cornelia seized him, her spindly hand threatening to crush his wrist. “Try shooing us out from your shitty little nest. We have more than enough backup.”</p><p>On cue gangsters broke in through the front doors, lining the walls and wielding a variety of Colt pistols. Enraged and helpless to protect his home, Yuri grabbed the knife out from his heel and stabbed his captor in the breast. She released him, stumbled, and shrieked, “To hell with them! Shoot them all!”</p><p>“No! Please!” I shouted, reaching out a hand in vain. “Don’t shoot! Don’t—"</p><p>In a split-second Dad had grabbed my arm, wrenched me to the ground, and thrown himself over me. The roar of gunfire filled the nightclub, the echoes amplifying the noise and horror, amidst the screams of the patrons and shattering windows. I felt Dad’s rigid stance go slack, his sturdy frame slumping over me as it captured bullet after bullet and refused to every single one passage into me.</p><p>My ears were ringing but I could make out the shouts of the Golden Deer, the Blue Lions, and the Ashen Wolves. A stray bullet knocked out a lightbulb and cast the ballroom into darkness, which effectively halted most of, but not all, the shooting. I tried to worm out of Dad’s embrace and ignore the liquid soaking into my clothing, but another few rounds of bullets caused him to clutch me tighter. I could barely make out Claude, Dimitri, and Yuri wrestling with the gangsters, knocking their weapons to the ground, and forcing them outside, while Mercedes and Annette scrambled to care for the wounded.</p><p>When finally the gunfire ceased, replaced by Dad’s heavy breathing amidst the tinkling of glass shards, I gently rolled him onto his back. My mind could scarcely comprehend what my eyes were making out in the low light. His body was soaked with blood and riddled with bullets, as if he were some wild bison felled by white men, as if he were simply flesh in the way of a greater destiny still yet to manifest. Liquid droplets trickled onto his face and mixed with his blood, reminding me of when we’d practice shooting in the prairie with a thunderstorm on the horizon. He touched my cheek, and I realized it was my tears.</p><p>“You know,” he gasped out, “I ain’t never seen you cry before… not even as a babe. Sitri always wished to comfort you, but she passed before… Even though I caused you this pain, at least I can for her, now…”</p><p>I had never heard my mother’s name spoken aloud before. Now my father was fading away before my very eyes. His face became ashen. I wanted to scream, rip my guts out to wrest the pain gripping my heart, but instead I quietly lay my head on his chest, seeking the heartbeat that grew ever fainter.</p><p>“Promise me one thing, kid… Byleth. Stay away from…” He coughed, blood splattering across my face.</p><p>I buried my face in his chest, muffling my sobs in his shirt and embracing him tightly, as if I could grab ahold of the soul drifting away from his corporeal form. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” I murmured.</p><p>With the last of his energy, he raised a hand to stroke my head soothingly. As I inhaled that familiar scent of home for the last time, I heard the rattle of death escape from his punctured lungs and out between his lips. His hand stilled on the back of my neck. Just like that, he was gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it's been a rough week, here in philly, &amp; who knows how worse it'll get next week. i hope you'll forgive me if i seem insensitive for continuing to write about shootings and police, but i also hope this can be a space where i, &amp; maybe you the reader, can find some refuge in fiction, as well as acknowledge how historical events and actors are so intricately connected to the present. these things keep happening, so how do we find a way to break the cycle?...</p><p>in any case i hope y'all have a safe/warm/fun/socially-distant halloween/end of october tomorrow! not sure if the next one will be 2 or 3 weeks from now. am also hoping to participate in nonbinary byleth week tho so keep an eye out for that! find RTs &amp; occasional lukewarm takes @ twitter.com/deltacapricorn</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. in which Byleth misses Jeralt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>even tho im like the only one who really derives any satisfaction from this v weird fanfic/au, still i wanted to put something up since it's been a little while. so it's a bit on the shorter end too. (check out my short stories for #nonbinarybylethweek tho! i had lots of fun w those.)</p><p>in any case, hope y'all're hanging in there, as perhaps one the strangest months of the year draws to a close &amp; we enter the home stretch. stay safe &amp; warm!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Absolutely not,” Rhea intoned in the same voice she used when Dad and I first arrived at the church.</p><p>I stood aghast, forcing back expletives and instead standing in a furious silence.</p><p>Alois thankfully expressed himself more politely if not more forcefully. “Excuse me, but as a member of this church, I must wholly and solemnly condemn your actions, or lack thereof! How can you possibly sleep well at night knowing that you’ve forsaken one of your own, and one of the best of best, no less?”</p><p>Seteth pinched the bridge of his nose as Rhea stared straight ahead, seemingly gazing at nothing. “It is with great pain that I implore you both to understand that given the hour and location of the scene of the crime, it would not be <em>proper</em> to highlight any association between his death and the Church.”</p><p>“Say his name,” I growled, hands clenching into fists. None of them responded. “After all Dad has done for you… now you won’t even acknowledge his personhood? Dad, Jeralt, was a real human. A kind and loving man who protected others. And one who would have stopped at nothing to pursue the truth!”</p><p>I nearly lunged for the two priests, were it not for the gentle touch of a hand to my forearm. I flinched back, only to find Flayn at my side. She wasn’t looking at me, but her hand remained steady on my skin.</p><p>“Father, Archbishop,” she addressed them resolutely, pausing for a moment to ensure their attention. “I understand I am in no place to speak, given my recent actions straining our relations… however, it is because of our familial and sacred bond that you regardless welcome and wish me here, as upset as our actions make each other. How could you not understand that it is the very same bond that binds Byleth and Alois to Jeralt, and to us? Is it not the role of the Church to relieve such burdens of earthly souls?”</p><p>“Flayn, there will be no more words from you,” Seteth reprimanded sternly, the first time he’d spoken all afternoon. “You will not go around sticking your nose in other people’s business—”</p><p>“Other people’s business!” she cried out on our behalf. “As Alois already said, Jeralt was one of our own. How could you be so heartless? …This is why I hate you!” With that she turned tail and ran for the exit.</p><p>Seteth shook his head, though there was more to his expression than mere disappointment in his daughter. Whatever it was, he seemed to swallow it for now and turned back to me and Alois. “Regarding the matter at hand, Archbishop Rhea has spoken. Our Church of Seiros is already struggling to maintain its tenuous position amongst other institutions of power in New York City.”</p><p>“What, didn’t get enough schmoozing in during Thanksgiving?” I snapped back. Alois inhaled sharply. I couldn’t tell if it was a gasp or a stifled laugh.</p><p>“You impudent child—” Seteth began, but Archbishop held out a hand in front of him, silencing him.</p><p>“There will be no further discussion of this issue,” she declared, maintaining her droning tone. “Byleth, Alois, please understand our circumstances. Power of our kind is not to be used lightly.”</p><p>“If not to help uncover the details of Dad’s murder, then what’s it even for?” I retorted, but this time Alois placed a firm hand on my shoulder. A gentle nudge indicated that it was time for us to give up.</p><p>“Take care,” Seteth said perfunctorily as we turned to leave. “We are very sorry for Jeralt’s loss. Truly.”</p><p>-</p><p>Stepping into the daylight, the sun shining as brightly as if it were the middle of summer, Alois finally released my shoulder from his iron grip. I could tell his words were choked by the threat of tears, so I opted to hug him instead. After we parted, he clapped my back in a manner too reminiscent of Dad’s, almost bringing me to my knees. Before either of us could break down sobbing, he turned heel and headed for his car, trying to convince us both that he at least could be strong enough for two.</p><p>As I proceeded in the opposite direction I was surprised to see Yuri perched on the steps, some feet from the Church’s entrance but crouched just out of sight from the door. The scuff of my boots against the stone alerted him of my approach. He squinted up at me, raising a gaunt hand to shield his eyes.</p><p>“Were you waiting long?” I ventured, after he remained silent. Then I extended a hand to him, which he finally grasped lightly to rise to his feet. He didn’t let go, and I let my warmth seep into his clammy skin.</p><p>“… I heard everything. What’ll you do next?” he said, watching me with lavender-lidded eyes.</p><p>I swallowed a deep gulp of air, though the weight in my chest remained stuck in place. It seemed to be that weight that spoke for me when I replied almost unconsciously, “I’m going to talk to Edelgard.”</p><p>“Perhaps you’ve considered this already, but,” Yuri cleared his throat, “as awful as it sounds, don’t you think Jeralt’s death was meant to ward you away from further involvement with all this mess?”</p><p>It hadn’t occurred to me, and I supposed I’d have to digest that thought for a while longer. Even so, I shook my head earnestly. “I can’t know for sure unless I find her and force the truth out of her. And I have to get to her before she executes anybody else.”</p><p>Yuri studied me for a moment longer, as if waiting for me to change my mind. Then he said quietly, “Thought you might say that. You’ll need this, friend.”</p><p>He took my hand that he still held, opened my palm, and deposited there a set of well-worn brass keys. They seemed no different from any other keyring accidentally dropped or purposefully stolen in the city’s alleyways, save for a black eagle emblazoned into the flat end of each key.</p><p>“Where’d you get these?” I closed my hand around them, the cold metal draining the warmth from my flesh. “Don’t tell me you pickpocketed one of the Black Eagles yourself?”</p><p>He shrugged languidly. “Ask Constance. She supposedly acquired these shortly before she was forced Underground with us at the House. No one is quite sure if those two events are connected, however.”</p><p>I examined them a moment longer, turning them over in the light, before stuffing them into my pocket. “Thank you,” I muttered almost cursorily. The NYPD HQ wasn’t too far from here.</p><p>“When are you going?” Yuri asked, as if reading my thoughts. “I’ll come with.”</p><p>I shook my head. “I have to do this alone. I… should stay away from you and everyone else. This is—”</p><p>He quieted me by placing a hand on my cheek. “He died in my territory. Therefore it’s my responsibility too. Until we can do his unnecessary death justice, all the Ashen Wolves are in this with you.”</p><p>I wanted to push back, but the look in his eyes and the sensation of his palm on my winter-bitten cheek convinced me otherwise. “Alright. But don’t mention any of this to Claude. I won’t let him get involved.”</p><p>Yuri cracked a lopsided smile. “Good call, friend. You can count on me to keep a secret from that man.”</p><p>-</p><p>Even though it was Christmas Day, we waited until nightfall for the cover of darkness. Given Edelgard’s connections to the networks of New York that even Yuri and Claude didn’t dare contact, we couldn’t be sure if there were any gangsters, or even malingering police officers looking for cheap entertainment, lying in wait for us as we approached the looming headquarters of the NYPD.</p><p>But we were able to gain entry without any trouble and descended into the underbelly of the gothic building, key after key door after door. It was almost too easy to reach the wing of the Black Eagles.</p><p>“I can’t believe our tax dollars are funding this underground lair for her pet projects,” Yuri growled under his breath as we combed through the hallways, hesitantly turning on the lights one by one.</p><p>The rows of interrogation rooms greeted us as we passed each of them by, peeking in for any sort of clue, only to find them devoid of anything other than a steel chair with sparkling-clean handcuffs. The memory of when I first saw Petra and her defiant gaze sent a needle of pain through my heavy heart.</p><p>“I can’t believe… they betrayed us,” I whispered back, knowing that I couldn’t blame only her for what had transpired, even if she seemed to be the catalyst. “How could they exploit the speakeasy like that?”</p><p>Yuri only shook his head. We found ourselves back in the main atrium of the Black Eagles division, staring at the empty seats where Caspar and Linhardt normally kept watch and napped respectively. A low humming noise, not dissimilar in timbre to Linhardt’s sleep-talking, caught our attention, and we gingerly crept toward the source of the sound.</p><p>The radio had been left on in the locker room, and no sooner did we swing its door open that I found myself mortified to hear none other than Edelgard’s voice, filling the room in her corporeal absence.</p><p>“Honest citizens of New York City: it is with great regret that I announce the untimely passing of Police Chief Ludwig Aegir, who was struck down honorably in the line of duty by gangsters. His son, Ferdinand Aegir, was also injured, but the good folk at Bellevue Hospital have successfully stabilized his condition.”</p><p> “Those sick bastards couldn’t be content with getting away with the murder of your father?” Yuri breathed out slowly through gritted teeth. “And to go as far as to kill their own people…!”</p><p>But I had no words. I was listening too intently, unable to tear myself away like a filthy rubbernecker.</p><p>“Customarily, Deputy Chief Ionius Hresvelg, would thusly assume the mantle of Chief. Given his frail condition, however, I, Edelgard Hresvelg, graciously accept all the responsibilities of Chief of Police in his stead, but of course only until a more suitable successor is found. I shall thus take on the duty of leading the investigation toward identifying the perpetrators of this heinous attack upon the venerable Aegir—"</p><p>“Shut up!” Without thinking I grabbed the radio and slammed it against the wall, letting her uncannily soothing voice fade into broken static, then silence. I sank to my knees, holding my palms to my face. But no tears came; there were none left, after Dad’s murder. It was just me left, trembling with rage.</p><p>Yuri knelt beside me, rubbing gentle circles into my back, as if to remind me that no, I wasn’t alone. As I took shaky breaths and attempted to calm myself down, as the anger subsided, one thought rang clear:</p><p>“I’m going to kill her.”</p><p>“What? That is honestly a fucking ridiculous idea.” Yuri’s hand paused along my shoulder blade, but I made no comment. “…You’re serious, friend. Well, no offense, but you’ll get yourself killed before Hubert can bat his beady little eyes at you. If Bernie doesn’t bludgeon you with an actual bat first.”</p><p>“Then what the hell am I supposed to do? This is gonna sound corny, but Dad was one of the greatest forces of justice in this city. To let his murderers go unpunished, just like that… I won’t ask you to lead me to the leaders of those gangs, but I have direct access to Edelgard, and when she comes back, I’ll—"</p><p>It was only with Yuri’s light touch to my hand that I realized I was gripping Claude’s pistol so tightly my knuckles had turned white. I opened my palm slowly, letting it fall into my lap and clatter onto the floor.</p><p>“You’ve witnessed firsthand how Claude is perfectly capable of gunning people down without a second thought, yeah?” he said quietly. “Whatever rumors you’ve heard about us being together, they’re probably all true. The rumors about our separation, however, are probably all false. So I’ll tell you now. Deep down I’m ashamed to admit it, but the real reason why he and I went our separate ways… Ever since the thought crossed my mind that I could be next, I haven’t been able to shake it off, especially when I’m with him. It was inevitable, then, that upon arriving in New York City, we would break up.”</p><p>I defended him almost instinctively. “But he wouldn’t do that to his friends, much less his loved ones.”</p><p>“You weren’t there when we absconded from the Outfit. It was a massacre,” Yuri retorted. “Frankly his escape strategy was absolutely brilliant, and I followed my part to a tee. Picked off everyone who could potentially compromise our flight, as well as a few folks here and there who deserved it just because.  But Claude… When we regrouped, I saw behind him a sea of blood. He’d killed every single person who ever had the misfortune of working alongside him, regardless of rank or kinship. It wasn’t in the plan, and it wasn’t necessary to silence them or anything. If anything, it made things worse for us afterward.”</p><p>The night at the pond, the long drives between the brewery and the speakeasy, the quiet moments in the taproom, alone with him. “He must’ve been so angry,” I whispered. “So angry, after all those years.”</p><p>Yuri seemed to mull that over before responding, “I don’t know if it was anger, sadism, vindictiveness, or what. I don’t particularly care either, if I’m being honest with you. But to kill siblings-in-arms so indiscriminately, what’s going stop you from shooting down all you and yours next?”</p><p>“You and I are still alive,” I mumbled. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure. But you also haven’t known him for, what, nearly a decade now.” Yuri narrowed his eyes at me, asking me to challenge him again, but neither of us had anything more to say on the matter.</p><p>After a pause, I finally continued, “Either way, even if she’s become the very embodiment of the law itself, I have to take down Edelgard. Otherwise she’ll keep involving and murdering other innocents.”</p><p>“Listen. We’re going to have to get ahold of your emotions before you do anything reckless. The last thing, the absolute last thing I want for you, is to become a perfect killing machine like Claude…” Yuri sighed. “Why don’t you come back with me tonight? My place is small, but I don’t like the idea of you returning to an empty apartment. And I want to keep an eye on you. You’ll stay with me tonight, yeah?”</p><p>I wanted to protest, but his words rang true. My memories from last night following Dad’s death were fuzzy, but I vaguely remembered strong hands tearing me away from his body as figures in robes—from the Church?—surrounded him, physically shrouding him in darkness, and then me suddenly waking up in the back of Alois’s car parked outside the Church, all alone in that cold boxy prison. I think he was there with me actually, rambling nervously about interring Jeralt in the Church cemetery, but his presence seemed more like a ghost hovering at the fringes of reality than a stepbrother alive in my life.</p><p>“Okay,” I finally said shakily. Yuri helped me to my feet, placed the pistol back in my hands, and led the way out. I lingered for a moment in the empty halls of the Black Eagles base of operations. I’d grown to look forward to those who frequented the speakeasy, but also the Strike Force seemed to involve those without any seriously ill intentions. Yet I couldn’t believe Edelgard to be so simpleminded as to believe that I would leave her to her own devices if—because—my father had been murdered in cold blood.</p><p>I turned over Claude’s pistol, once, twice, warm in my hands. How many had it slain? How many more?</p><p>-</p><p>Yuri had failed to inform me that he had an early start the next morning, as the opener for Annette and Mr. Dominic’s café, though what mattered was less the hour of waking and more that I hadn’t slept a single wink. Yuri had done his best to help me forget, even for just a little while, with those soft, whispering lips and fingers trailing along my skin like quicksilver; but after he fell asleep I spent the night staring at his silhouette dressed only in moonlight, his chest rising and falling so gently, so enviously, that even as I wrapped myself around his warm body I found myself too afraid to close my eyes, lest he too slip away from between my fingers. If he was disturbed, he made no such indication.</p><p>The frigid December air was the only thing keeping me awake as I waited impatiently for him to unlock the café and scramble indoors. Aside from us there was not a single soul outside, not even a skittering street rat. Why did he even have to work today? I’d heard of Mr. Dominic’s indomitable work ethic, but opening at six-thirty in the morning?—</p><p>We both swiveled toward the sound of footsteps, slamming against the concrete and rushing toward us. A lone police officer was barreling down the sidewalk. There wasn’t even a patrol car in sight. I almost wondered if he intended to crash right into us, before he stopped himself short just a few feet away.</p><p>“Not this shit again,” Yuri muttered, giving up on the door and stuffing his hands into his pockets.</p><p>“Put your hands up where I can see them!” The way his hands trembled as he pointed the pistol at our chests, unaware that he had forgotten to cock it, indicated he was probably just a rookie. Yuri winked at me, coming to the same understanding, though we kept our hands raised just in case his finger slipped.</p><p>“Look, Officer,” Yuri drawled, “I swear I work here, my fingers’re just too damn cold to get the key in—"</p><p>“Where were youse on Christmas evening?” the rookie demanded, voice cracking on the last syllables.</p><p>“Last night?” I started. “I was—” and then I froze, realizing that I couldn’t very well say that not too long ago we were busy infiltrating the Black Eagles Strike Force operations of the NYPD-HQ.</p><p>Yuri swept over to my side and draped an arm around my shoulders. “With me, Officer,” he cooed, layering his voice with Savage Mockingbird’s covetousness. “You got a problem? Or did you want in…?”</p><p>The officer flushed bright red, briefly losing the ability to speak. When he finally recovered his tongue, “Oh, so, um, not at Gloucester Meadows last night, then?”</p><p>Gloucester Meadows? Wasn’t that Lorenz’s…? I glanced at Yuri and reached over to touch his hand lightly, in part to complete the show of affection and in part out of genuine concern.</p><p>“What does that dismal excuse for a restaurant have to do with us?” Yuri skillfully disguised his curiosity as mere disdain. Though his upturned lip at the Gloucester gang and its artificially classy guise of gastronomy was genuine, still he couldn’t afford to overlook its rivalry with the Golden Deer speakeasy.</p><p>The officer seemed startled, though, at our response. “Youse haven’t heard the news, then? The restaurant’s no more. Burnt t’ashes, on Christmas night of all nights. Luckily nobody was inside, at least.”</p><p>One glance at Yuri confirmed my suspicions: the reason for the Black Eagles’ absence must have been…!</p><p>“Well, uh, I guess I’ll let you go for now then, since you don’t seem suspicious,” the rookie announced, holstering his pistol. “But, Eisner and Leclerc, know that the NYPD is keeping tabs on youse both.”</p><p>“Uh huh, I’m aware, have been since 1927,” Yuri drawled, unimpressed. The officer faltered. “Well go on now, shoo. And tell them to send a handsomer hunk instead of a pipsqueak like you next time, yeah?”</p><p>As I watched him slink away in shame, Yuri reassumed his quest to unlock the café doors. Even with him beside me, my thoughts returned to Claude. The streets fell back into silence, an uneasy one this time.</p><p>“Should we… check out the speakeasy tonight?” I wondered aloud. “Make sure they’re all okay?”</p><p>Yuri scoffed lightly. “If they’re ‘keeping tabs’ on us like the runt said—” he made flippant air quotes with his free hand “—then after Jeralt’s assassination they’ve definitely got Claude under 24/7 surveillance.”</p><p>With a tired <em>thunk!</em> the deadbolt finally slid open, and we eagerly entered the café. I stood listlessly to the side as Yuri fiddled with the heater. A low rumble, followed soon by stuffy but warm air, filled the room. Neither of said anything for a bit. I shuffled toward the counter, where Yuri was now preparing coffee while wiping down the surfaces and preheating the ovens. When he finally spoke, it seemed like he was continuing a thought that had trailed off the night before in the NYPD-HQ basement.</p><p>“His anger may be righteous and all, but it also has to be reined in. Both of you are volatile so you’ll just set each other off. So,” here he cast his eyes downward, “I’m keeping you safe, and away from him.”</p><p>And for the first time since that night I realized I’d been swimming in circles in my own bottomless ocean of despair. “Does he know? Is he okay? And what about Dimitri and the others?”</p><p>“Now you ask,” he said a bit scornfully, though perhaps he too noticed that at least I wasn’t completely wrapped up in my own shame and sorrow anymore. “They’re fine. And I promise the Golden Deer will be fine. Lorenz has likely already sought out Claude toward an anti-Black Eagles alliance or something. And while the NYPD can probably cover up the Gloucester Meadows fire as an accident of Christmas negligence, it’d be much too suspicious if other similar venues went up in smoke too soon afterward. So we ought to be safe for the time being. Until Claude and Lorenz get things sorted, you’ll stay with me.”</p><p>“I…” I felt the seeds of frustration take root within me—all this scheming and alliance-forging, all this getting shuttled around without me having any say, all this helplessness and inability to strike—but then Yuri gingerly placed a mug of fresh coffee in front of me. He had his own cup too, the mug with the stylized birds. He had a cigarette ready in one hand as he leaned against the counter across from me.</p><p>“You’re exhausted, and you’ll convince nobody otherwise. There’s still half an hour before we open, so why don’t you have a coffee and a snooze before then? I’ll be prepping in the kitchen if you need me.”</p><p>And with that he pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead. What little remaining willpower I had finally left my body. I only managed a few sips before I gave in to the urge to lay my head down on the counter between my arms, letting the hum of the kitchen machinery and warmth of the café slowly envelop me. In the same space where I saw Yuri for the first time just a few months ago, I sought a moment of peace.</p><p> </p><p>I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamt this next part, but at some point, before Yuri woke me up for the café’s opening, someone came in and sat beside me. I think he exchanged a few words with Yuri, and I couldn’t be sure how long he stayed, but he left before I could muster the energy to take a peek at who it was. When I awoke, there was a fine scarf of golden silk wrapped around my shoulders. It was quite warm.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. in which Byleth loses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before I’d even realized it, New Year’s had come and passed. Were it not for the uproarious crowds all across Manhattan celebrating the ball drop—something Dad had promised we’d see together—I wouldn’t have recognized that night as different from any other, Yuri curled up by my side as I lay awake wondering about Claude and the speakeasy. Every time I’d attempted to make my way over, though, Yuri with his impeccable instinct would catch me in the act, and, with a light touch to my forearm, remind me that I was to remain by his side for both our sakes, as the Golden Deer sorted out the arson attack on Gloucester Meadows, all too soon after the incident at the House of Ashen Wolves. The former at least graced the third page of section B of the <em>New York Times</em>; the latter, a mere column in a local tabloid, half of which was spent describing the 1923 anti-sodomy law rather than the House itself. Yuri was now putting in extra hours at the café to help fund its repairs, though he insisted I stay put rather than finding additional work to help him out. “It’s safer this way,” was his only explanation.</p><p>The year was 1932, the twilight of Prohibition and my time with the motley crew I’d come to befriend on the East Coast. Ever since Dad’s murder, though, time meant nothing to me. If the seasons were ever to change from long dreary nights to warmer spring days, I’d have scarcely noticed. My waking moments felt gray as the newspapers shunted under the café door every morning, which I’d anxiously scan for any information, anything at all about Dad’s case. But the Code Breaker faded from the public eye, much to the Church’s benefit. I wanted to curse Rhea and Seteth, but, as Alois reminded me when he stopped by briefly on New Year’s Day, now that we were orphans, they were the closest thing to family we had.</p><p>“If I had to choose, I’d rather ally with your church, Mercedes,” I grumbled to the serene woman beside me at the counter. “Unlike Rhea, Father Edmund actually seems like a god-fearing, pious sort of fellow.”</p><p>Mercedes chuckled lightly as Ingrid leaned on an elbow and rolled her eyes at me. “It’s not so easy to convert, you know,” the older woman humored me. “Or I suppose you wouldn’t be converting <em>from</em> anything. A baptism, then? Oh, but for your Christian name… there aren’t any unisex names, are there?”</p><p>“Not that I can think of, nope. Byleth is already kind of a pretty un-Christian name, huh?” Behind the counter Annette rubbed her temples in deep thought. “Guess you can’t get baptized, then. Oh well!”</p><p>“Um, Annette…” Ingrid pointed a finger at the smoke billowing out from the kitchen behind her.</p><p>“Eeeek!” She immediately dashed back into the kitchen, calling out, “Yuri, are you still alive in there?!”</p><p>Ingrid sighed—this was far from the first time that this had happened while Mercedes and Ingrid were visiting their friend—but Mercedes smiled benevolently, rubbing Ingrid’s back to get her to relax. There was a pregnant pause while I sat there awkwardly. The café was empty besides us three, with Annette and Yuri in the kitchen, and clearly the two women were here to visit them.</p><p>“Have you two been to the Golden Deer recently?” I finally ventured. “…How is Claude, do you know?”</p><p>Mercedes studied my face for a moment, eyebrows slightly raised. “I should be asking you, with how close you two seem, with each other and with Yuri, too. Have you not been there since the… new year?”</p><p>I shook my head. Mercedes tilted her head slightly in Ingrid’s direction to solicit a better answer.</p><p>Ingrid, too, had little intel on Claude. But, “Dimitri’s been… in a state, since the night at the House,” she lowered her voice as if in mourning. “He saw the police circle around the block a couple times before stopping in front of the House to accost the gangsters. He’s convinced that they were stalling for time.”</p><p>“He also claimed that he saw the Gloucester Meadows arsonist, someone in a red mask,” Mercedes added, brows now knit in worry. “He believes it was the same person who set fire to his home in Georgia, where he lost his father and stepmother. Oh, Dimitri… He’s always been an honest man, but…”</p><p>“He’s going mad,” Ingrid voiced what Mercedes refused to say. “It’s impossible for all these things to be connected. I know it must’ve been really hard on him to have witnessed so much death, but, at the risk of sounding pithy, you can’t change the past. And sometimes you can’t avenge it, either. I would know.”</p><p>We all fell quiet. From the kitchen bubbled the sizzle of a dying fire, followed by Annette apologizing profusely to Yuri; from the street, the rumble of an endangered streetcar, followed by triumphant buses and taxis. I wondered how Sylvain and Felix were holding up down in Chinatown. If Marianne was okay.</p><p>“I’d better go.” Ingrid slid a wrinkly dollar along the counter. “May I see you to the station, Mercedes?”</p><p>“Why, thank you for offering,” she replied, shrugging on a well-worn coat. “Only if it’s on the way.”</p><p>“Of course. Farewell, Byleth!”</p><p>“Bye.” I watched the two ladies exit, almost a bit hastily. I wondered if they were heading back to their loved ones amongst the Blue Lions crew. A month ago I might’ve felt a bit lonely at their departure, but in that moment I couldn’t have cared less. Everything was cold, tiring, and a painful reminder, always.</p><p>---</p><p>Another torpid week crawled by. The burst of activity at the café that had accompanied the new year’s jubilance quickly faded as customers reminded themselves of their yearly resolutions or businessmen bustled over to work with renewed vigor. I gradually regained enough motivation to take walks here and there, though if I wandered too close to Washington Square Park or Union Square, the sight of NYPD officers flitting restlessly about the Hoovervilles would trigger in me some sort of flight response, and soon enough I’d be back at the café, where I’d find a hot bowl of soup waiting for me.  </p><p>This sort of life wasn’t so bad, I found myself thinking one cloudy afternoon. If Yuri’s plan was to ease my pain with time and distance, it seemed to be working, mostly. But there were small moments—the sight of a heaping plate of pancakes, or the sound of police sirens zooming by—when the anger would well up again and swallow the lingering sadness. My rage, my regrets; I wished I could simply stop <em>feeling</em> at all.</p><p>A frigid breeze washed over the café as a couple guests let themselves in. I shivered and huddled at the end of the counter. The regulars paid no mind to my haggard appearance and continued occupancy once Yuri fed them a white lie about the café’s “charitable arrangement” for me. If I heard customers shuffling into a neighboring seat though, I could reasonably assume they were from the speakeasy.</p><p>“Hullo, Ingrid. Here with Mercedes again? Annette’s on dishwashing duty for now.” I twisted my face into what I hoped was something resembling a <em>nice to see you</em> sort of smile.</p><p>“Byleth, you’re here!” The blonde woman positively beamed at me in response as she stated the obvious, which took me slightly aback. There was no way I was that convincing.</p><p>Hearing the exchange Yuri stepped out from the kitchen, wiping his  hands on a dirty dishrag. “Welcome back, Ingrid. I see you couldn’t resist yet another round of my gourmet—oh.”</p><p>I watched his facial expression shift from his pretend arrogance to a more cautious leer, before I swiveled around on my bar stool and came face to face with the one and only.</p><p>“Hey, Byleth,” Claude wore a warm smile, hiding something behind his expression. “I was wondering what was taking you so long, so when Ingrid brought word of your inquiry I couldn’t help but stop by.”</p><p>All I wanted in that moment was to leap into his arms and have him ferry me away to another night of revelry and forgetting at the speakeasy. But with others present, I instead opted to take both his hands in mine, my pale skin an unpleasant contrast to his bronze, and he squeezed my hands affirmatively. Studying his features I almost winced at the heavy bags under his eyes, the new gauntness of his cheeks.</p><p>“Do you have time? Will you stay awhile?” I asked softly, as if I didn’t want the others to hear.</p><p>“Of course, my friend,” he answered, sidling into the seat beside me. Ingrid perched on his other side, though she clearly meant to converse with Annette and Yuri instead. Yuri rather begrudgingly decided to leave us alone and divided his attention between his kitchen duties and the women beside him.</p><p>“So… how has business at the speakeasy been?” I began an attempt at conversation. Now that I had an audience with Claude for the first time in weeks I suddenly felt as unsure of myself as when we first met.</p><p>To my slight relief he seemed to feel a bit nervous too. “Well, you know. Quiet. Or, I guess you wouldn’t know, haha… Well. Everyone misses you though. That much you oughta know for sure.”</p><p>“That so.” I gave a sort of bemused smile, since I found it difficult to imagine, but it seemed to throw Claude off his game. “And, well, how’re you? How have you been since…?”</p><p>He waved a hand as if dissipating the thought mid-air. “Oh, fine, I’m doing swell. No need to worry about me. You, though, you look like you haven’t slept since… but I suppose that’s understandable.”</p><p>“Speak for yourself,” I smirked. His hand flew to his face, though he then tried to make it seem intentional by changing course to play with his earring instead. I wanted to touch a finger to his cheek, as if I could restore some of its color, but instead we let an awkward silence settle over us.</p><p>
  <em>Talk about anything else. Sleeplessness? Insomnia? Current events? Politics? Hoovervilles in the park?</em>
</p><p>“Tell me about the folks outside the city, how’re they?” I ventured. “Marianne, Dimitri, their health?”</p><p>Claude lit up, visibly relieved from having to talk about himself or the speakeasy business. “There’re rumors that Governor Roosevelt is going to run for president,” he winked, indicating that he knew it was true. “But that means the fate of Warm Springs is up in the air. So Dimitri’s planning with Hilda and Lorenz to take Marianne down there, once her condition improves with the ebb of winter…”</p><p>---</p><p>The mid-January sun had already set when Yuri and Annette began wiping down the tables and stowing away kitchen utensils to prepare for closing shop. All that was left were our two coffee mugs, my usual generic white one and, I only realized as we were finishing up, Yuri’s bird-flecked mug in Claude’s hands.</p><p>Through the afternoon our conversation had flowed as freely as the Delaware River, meandering between status updates on how each member of the rumrunning operation was faring to the upcoming municipal and presidential elections. We managed to avoid any overt mention of our former friends amongst the Black Eagles, though they were the most intimately linked to city and national politics. Even so, it was a pleasant afternoon, one of the nicest conversations I’d had in what seemed like ages.</p><p>As I was contemplating different awkward excuses for spending more time with him, Claude himself cleared his throat and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His hand brushed against mine on the counter.</p><p>“I’ve a favor to ask of you, actually,” he said, almost reluctantly. I could see Yuri shuffle into the kitchen entrance, within earshot of us. “Black Eagles activity has fallen eerily quiet. It’s hard to believe they’d be satisfied with torching Gloucester Meadows and ransacking the House, and I don’t think Dimitri’s paranoia is completely unfounded. …Byleth, may I access the Code Br—your father’s documents? They must’ve known he was gonna show up at the House. They might’ve even baited him. I think—”</p><p>“Enough, you don’t know what you’re getting into—” Yuri began, striding over.</p><p>“Yes,” I interrupted, stopping him in his tracks. The two men studied me carefully. “I… I’ve been meaning to go back, but it didn’t feel right to ask Alois… Claude, I would love if you could accompany me there.”</p><p>Making no effort to hide his side-eying of Yuri, Claude grinned and held out a hand. “Gladly, my friend.”</p><p>Yuri narrowed his eyes. But instead of anger I saw only something more like melancholy or resignation settle over him. Finally he settled on simply requesting, “You’ll keep yourselves out of trouble, yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah.” I spoke so softly I wasn’t even sure if I’d said anything. Claude gave a near-imperceptible nod at his former partner in crime. Taking Claude’s offered hand, then, we set off on our last journey together.</p><p>---</p><p>We decided to walk—neither of us acknowledging the pervasive sense that we were merely borrowing time with each other—and I thought to myself, perhaps I might be content if I could keep walking alongside Claude like this. In a future or an alternate timeline where we could find peace and equality.</p><p>“Have you ever thought about what kind of life you’d be living if not for rumrunning?” I asked him.</p><p>“I’ve actually been thinking about this a lot recently,” Claude sighed. “Economists are beginning to think that this depression we’re in might not end so soon, despite what all the politicians want us to believe. So there’s been talk of repealing Prohibition to get more money circulating outside the black market. Which, you know, would be great for the common people, whom we serve so proudly at the Golden Deer, but it also means everything we’ve created over the years—” he waved a hand, as if gesturing to an imaginary ballroom, “—will become normalized. Legalization means speakeasies will disappear.”</p><p>“People would still come, no? Couldn’t you get a license, or something?” I ventured, rather unhelpfully.</p><p>He cracked a smile for my efforts though. “If only things were so simple, my friend. But with legalization comes commercialization. Robber barons will set up their own supply chains, bypass local brewers like Dedue and Ashe, and undercut the prices we set at the Golden Deer and Gloucester Meadows. I’m in this line of work because I’m good at it, but also to provide a safe space and a living wage for those of us who couldn’t blend in with mainstream society. Newly empowered businessmen? Maybe not so much.”</p><p>“So what will you do, then?” <em>And what will I do?</em></p><p>He shrugged. “I dunno. Find some other black-market bandwagon to hop on, I guess.”</p><p>I could only nod. One by one, any safe havens I’d known were being destroyed.</p><p>“You know, when I first left for Chicago, I accidentally hopped on a train going the opposite way and ended up in Detroit. For the first time I found people who looked more like me, talked like my old man, even offered me a job for decent folk. But if I’d stayed, today I’d have nothing. Colored communities in former industrial centers like Detroit and Pittsburgh have been left for dead. Depression or not, it might take them a hundred years to recover. Another hundred years for the borders between races to fall.”</p><p>We arrived at the foot of the apartment complex where Dad and I had been staying. I’d lost track of how many weeks it’d been since I last visited. The two of us stared up at the concrete monolith.</p><p>“Truth be told, I don’t think there’s any place for me in this world,” Claude said quietly.</p><p>I wanted to tell him, <em>me too</em>, but the liminal spaces we inhabited were both but unequally ambiguous. In a society that expected <em>either/or,</em> he was <em>both/and</em> whereas I was <em>neither/nor</em>. The stakes were our lives.</p><p>I had nothing meaningful to say. So I took his hand, felt him squeeze mine gently, and entered together.</p><p>---</p><p>Were it not for the fine layer of dust blanketing everything, entering the apartment in that moment felt like any other afternoon, like Dad was simply away at the Church, working overtime for the seventh day in a row, but surely he would be back home for breakfast the next morning…?</p><p>I didn’t realize I was trembling until I felt a hand on my shoulder. Claude gave me a melancholy sort of smile, as if to say, <em>I’m here, my friend.</em> Dad was gone, but Claude was here. He’d always be here. Right?</p><p>“If you don’t mind,” Claude began, making his way to Dad’s room. My room, door left ajar as always, clearly had nothing worth investigating, bereft as it was of any sentimental possessions. <em>But Dad’s…</em></p><p>I nodded, following his lead. As we gingerly stepped in, as if afraid to stir any restless spirits, we found a room as austere as mine, save for a desk cluttered with papers and photographs. Claude immediately gravitated toward it, while I floated to the bookshelf by his bed, the sheets all tucked in properly. It was filled with history and psychology books from the NYPL, which I tucked into a bag to return. But there was one leather book without a catalog card or a title on its spine. It was nearly weightless in my hands.</p><p>“Is that Jeralt’s—sorry, your father’s diary?” Claude peeked over my shoulder. “Can you go to the most recent entry? We might find some clues there.”</p><p>I obliged, flipping through the well-worn pages thin as parchment. His handwriting was measured and steady, and I could see ink blots where he might’ve paused to mull over his next words but forgotten to lift his pen. Something sank to the bottom of my chest. I honestly hadn’t pegged him as the pensive type. How much didn’t I know about him? How much I would never know?</p><p>Claude poked a finger to stop my flipping, which had become mindless as I swam in my thoughts and regrets. “Right there. It’s a message for you, marked on December 23<sup>rd</sup>! I… I’ll let you read it first.”</p><p>He wandered back toward Dad’s desk. I sat on the bed, leaned against the wall, and took a deep breath.</p><p>
  <em>Byleth:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My fervent wish is to be able to come back, tear this page out, &amp; pretend it never existed. But if you are reading it now… I am so sorry. To you, &amp; to your mother too. It means I failed you both.</em>
</p><p>A blot of liquid fell upon the page, blurring some text. Oh… that was me, huh? I wiped it away hastily.</p><p>
  <em>As you might already suspect, the Church of Seiros is involved in shady business re: NYC politics. It’s also why your mother isn’t here w/ us today. Her life was not too great a sacrifice—neither is mine, I suspect, &amp; I fear for yours. So I whisked you away, far from the East Coast, where I thought we’d be safe…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’ll have time to unravel those connections, but my investigations have revealed far more urgent problems re: the NYPD. If the evidence is sound: the daughter of Chief Hresvelg has taken the heirs of the Vestra Mafia + Varley Mob under her wing. See my notes on my desk. If the lawless become pawns of the law, if the police become the sole arbiters of power, then there can be no room for justice in this country.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I received a tip that some of their high-ranking bosses will be visiting the House of Ashen Wolves nightclub tomorrow. I’ll try to accost them there. [ink blot] You mentioned you’ve joined a rumrunning operation. There are many throughout the East Coast, and I pray that yours is not the one being targeted, but if the name “Blue Lions Brewery” rings a bell for you… and if I fail… they will be in danger.</em>
</p><p>My entire body went cold. “Claude…” I barely managed.</p><p>He perked up at his name and meandered over with some files. “What’s up? Something life-changing?”</p><p>
  <em>I only wish I could’ve had more time with you. If (if!) anything happens to me, I’ve asked Alois to take my place legally and spiritually. Stay away from the Church, and <span class="u">DO NOT TRUST THE POLICE</span>. <strike>Kid</strike> Byleth, you mean the world to me... Please do everything in your power to keep yourself out of harm’s way. Got it?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dad</em>
</p><p>Claude sat beside me, peering over my shoulder with much curiosity. I could only speechlessly point at the last section of Dad’s final entry. I heard the crunch of papers beside me as his hands balled into fists.</p><p>“If the Code Breaker’s lead is correct, then… We have to move, quickly. No—I have to. Byleth, you stay—urk, no, you go find Yuri—no, that’s not safe…” He seemed to be muttering more to himself, frantically concocting and scrapping scheme after scheme in his mind, but likely arriving at the same conclusion each time—we might be too late. Finally he gripped my shoulder a bit too tightly, steeled himself, and said, “Byleth, you have to run. It doesn’t matter where to. You just have to leave as soon as possible.”</p><p>My feelings and words came tumbling back, and I firmly grasped his hand in mine. “No. I won’t run.”</p><p>A hint of shock crossed his eyes before he doubled down. “Is this to avenge Jeralt? Because there’s no shame in running away if it’s to save a life—your own life. Look; he even instructed you to do the same.”</p><p>“No, Claude, it’s not.” I held his gaze defiantly. “This whole time I’ve been with the Golden Deer, I’ve only brought disaster... I’m not going to turn tail and flee when this is all my fault. I’ll earn my card.”</p><p>“How, by finally murdering someone?” Claude barked a harsh laugh, then caught himself.</p><p>In that moment I really did want to run, if only to escape from that look of despair that crossed his expression. We stood there in pointed silence. I quietly withdrew his pistol from my vest pocket and held it out to him. A silent declaration, that I’d find a way to solve things without killing anyone. Understanding my intent, after a moment’s hesitation he took it and tucked it away in his own pocket.</p><p>“You’re unstoppable, Byleth. I know all too well.” Claude took my hand between his, emerald eyes meeting mine. “I’m taking the Golden Deer with me to the Blue Lions Brewery. You should stick with Yuri. The Ashen Wolves will keep you safe. But if it ever gets too dangerous… promise me you’ll hightail it out of this hellscape. Promise me?... One last thing for you, if you’re not afraid of bad luck—take this.”</p><p>With his free hand he pressed something into my palm, fingers lingering as if he didn’t want me to read it just yet. But he allowed me to open my hands, and I found his card, <em>The Moon</em>, reversed in my hand. When I turned it over, I found an address scrawled in gold ink, seamlessly blending with the card motifs.</p><p>“Will you be there?” I asked. “Will you run away too?” <em>With me?</em></p><p>He sighed, cupping my cheek with his calloused hand and rubbing away a tear with his thumb that I hadn’t realized was there. “I want to say that I’ve got the Golden Deer to take care of, but with everything that’s been going on, we both know that probably won’t be true soon enough. So let me promise you this: whatever happens here, wherever we end up… I’ll take care of you, alright?”</p><p>I barely registered what I said next: “I’ll save you, Claude. I’ll set you free.”</p><p>Claude gave me that timeless expression of his, with his mouth slightly agape as if mid-sentence, eyes asking, <em>Are you messing with me right now? Are you going to pull away, say it’s a joke, and hurt me?</em></p><p>The only way I could think of reassuring him was to close the distance between our lips. He froze for a moment, a deer in the headlights, before opening up and letting me in. He was burning hot, desperate; I almost wondered if he might be feverish. But he pressed a hand to the back of my head and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I never wanted to let him go. I could never <em>feel</em> so much without him.</p><p>When we pulled apart he whispered to me something like, “<em>Ma’a salama</em>,” so softly I might’ve mistaken it for the winter breeze rustling through the window. His hand brushed against my skin as it fell from my face. Before I could reach out to him, he slipped away from me and out the apartment, swift as a gust of wind. The Moon lay in my hand. Claude always believed it represented his deception and anxiety, but here it was, upside-down, a deer whose antlers fell like bangs against the round face of the moon. I unconsciously tapped my vest lightly, as if reminding myself that The World remained in my own pocket.</p><p>---</p><p>I knew I should’ve returned to Yuri. I would’ve been perfectly safe in his apartment, where we’d pass the time exchanging stories from our pre-New York days to ease each other’s painful recollections of the recent past, where he’d attempt each night, almost religiously, to soothe my numbness with his full repertoire. I should’ve left everything behind and started anew, as Claude and Yuri both wished for me.</p><p>Instead I found myself outside the side entrance to the NYPD-HQ, the ring of eagle-emblazoned keys jingling in my jittery hands. I couldn’t tell if I was shivering due to the cold or trembling due to fear. But I knew this was the last place in the world I ought to be. And yet it was as if someone called me here…</p><p>“It’s you.” A gravelly voice startled me greatly. Before I could flee in terror a hulking figure pinned me to the wall, the cold brick seeping through my layers of clothing. The lone streetlight flickered.</p><p>I could barely recognize the man looming above me, so contorted in rage and misery were his features, but a lone sapphire eye caught the glint of the moon and I realized it could only be one lonely man.</p><p>“Dimitri?” I ventured helplessly. He only grunted in response. “Why are you here?”</p><p>“The same reason as you, no?” he growled. “I will have her head, if it is the last thing I do in this cursed lifetime, with this wretched body of mine that still needlessly lives on. I must seek revenge…”</p><p>I thought to what I’d overhead in the café. “For your parents?” I asked. “You don’t know if—”</p><p>“I know that she murdered Dedue and Ashe in cold blood!” he bellowed, not caring to keep his voice lowered. “The sight of the farm, set ablaze in the middle of the night… it was exactly like back home!”</p><p>Dedue and Ashe…? Dad was right. And Claude was too late. My body went cold, then felt hot as fire. I broke out in a cold sweat as Dimitri breathed heavily. Had I caused this? Because I came to New York—</p><p>I yelped as he seized my hand holding the keys, threatening to break my bones in his vice grip. “You… Are you one of her loyal dogs?” he spat with more vitriol than I could’ve ever imagined from him.</p><p>“No, no, I… these were stolen. Given to me. I was gonna talk to her…” My head felt faint from the pain.</p><p>“Let me in, or else I will kill you for these keys.” His single eye blazed with fury.</p><p>Something told me this was a terrible idea, with Dimitri in this state. <em>Someone will die</em>, a tiny voice whispered in my head. But how could I stop this man, wilder than a feral boar?</p><p>“Your other eye…” I whispered desperately. “What happened, Dimitri? What about Marianne, and the rest of the Blue Lions and Golden Deer waiting for you? You need medical attention—”</p><p>“Enough!” he roared, though he did not move. I fell silent, afraid to even breathe. “I clawed it out,” he replied simply, and as if to accentuate his point a drop of something plinked onto the cobblestone. I had no words. This kind, quiet man, driven to this sort of madness… Was there any way to relieve his agony?</p><p>He let his answer hang in the stillness of the air before repeating himself. “Let me in. I wish to kill Edelgard. You do not need to die now, Byleth, but if you continue to obstruct me, I will kill you first.”</p><p><em>Someone will die…</em> But so many have already died. What could I do? If I refused I would be added to that list. And Dad’s request, Claude’s too, that I survive… For what? Revenge? Dimitri was already dead…</p><p>I decided then that I had to survive. And so with both trepidation and resolve, I unlocked the door.</p><p>---</p><p>Dimitri tore off into the building before I could lead him to the basement area. Loud slams of doors thrown open and desks turned over reverberated throughout the empty halls, making it impossible to figure out how far he’d gone. I decided not to chase after him and descended alone into the basement.</p><p>Just as the night of Christmas with Yuri, the Black Eagles Strike Force wing was eerily silent, again as if they anticipated our arrival. But that night, they apparently were at Gloucester Meadows… so tonight…</p><p>I gritted my teeth and began my search through the corridor lined with interrogation chambers. Dimitri was right. Dad was right. Ashe and Dedue were gone. And Claude… Claude was in danger, wasn’t he?</p><p>A single light flickered at the end of the hall. I held my breath and tiptoed toward the room. My heart seemed to pound louder than my attempts at tiptoeing with my inappropriate footwear. I closed my eyes, focusing solely on touch and sound, and when I opened them again I was in front of that room. There were two voices, hushed and worrying, unaware of my presence mere inches away. <em>Three… two…</em></p><p>I burst in and grabbed the smaller of the two figures, cornering ourselves with my hand around their throat. The sensation of warm, pulsing flesh in my palm seemed to feed a bloodlust within me, a frenzied desire to soothe the wrath that had been multiplying so agonizingly. I tightened my hold on their throat, listening with sick satisfaction to the garbled noises I elicited from my victim. With a gasp the figure went limp. Only then I realized it was Bernadetta. The shock of recognition compelled me to loosen my grip—but only barely. As my fury began to subside I realized someone was calling my name.</p><p>“Byleth, no!” Hubert stood opposite to us, dressed in plainclothes and clearly unarmed. He was just out of reach. We both saw that if he made any move, I could crush Bernie’s windpipe almost instantly.</p><p>“Where’s Edelgard?” I responded, ignoring how similar I sounded to Dimitri just earlier. Hubert’s lips tightened into a thin line. My blood began to boil again when I saw the bloody bandages in his hands—back from a killing spree—and my fingers twitched, eliciting squeaks of terror from Bernadetta. But then I saw, pinned to Hubert’s lapel, a violet flower sewed together out of scraps of cloth. My gaze softened.</p><p>He took the opportunity to attempt to persuade me. “Imprison me, torture me, kill me, leave me begging for my life—do whatever you want to me. But right now, I’m begging for hers.”</p><p>I could scarcely believe the words coming out of his mouth right now. Perhaps neither could Bernie, who stared wide-eyed and wordlessly at the man who so terrorized her, yet whom she’d come to treasure.</p><p>“What happened to Dad—my father?” I gasped out, voice nearly breaking. “You know. Tell me.”</p><p>Hubert’s body slumped, leaning against the wall for support, but he kept his eyes fixed on my hands. “You’re right to target Edelgard… She ordered Petra to infiltrate Claude’s residence and ascertain the location of the Blue Lions Brewery, and she gave conflicting information to Bernadetta and me to relay to our respective families, which culminated in the shootout at the House of Ashen Wolves. I suspect she also gave false intel to the Church, which was what prompted Jeralt to investigate in the first place.”</p><p>“Why did he have to die?” I asked, voice breaking. No, I refused let my grief take over, not here….</p><p>“You know why.” Hubert shook his head slowly. “You were supposed to die too. But not by our hand.”</p><p>I mulled over this information, though my mind felt foggy. If not by their hand, then whose…?</p><p>“All I ask is you let Bernadetta go. You and I both know she doesn’t deserve any of this. …Have mercy.”</p><p>My eyes flitted between the two of them—that mysterious, ghoulish figure crouching defensively for the creature more akin to a terrified rabbit than a murderous girl—though I couldn’t concentrate on either of them. I felt my breath become shaky and my arms tremble, though I perceived no hesitation in my hands. All I could feel was the crushing weight of irony, draped over the searing pain in my heart.</p><p>“Please,” Hubert whispered. The quiver in his voice was downright ghastly, and I gritted my teeth.</p><p>“If I don’t kill you here,” I deadpanned, “Edelgard will probably have your heads anyway, for giving me this intel. So where will you go?”</p><p>Bernadetta whimpered, “Bernie has nowhere to go. You can kill me here, it’s okay. I’m tired of this.”</p><p>“No!” Hubert protested. “Your death would be in vain. Your life is worth so much more. You can’t...”</p><p>I suddenly remembered my declaration to Claude, and I released my grip in shame. She fell to the ground, rubbing at her throat. And if she already had a death wish, then it was pointless to do anything, wasn’t it? “Swear you’ll never set foot in New York City again. Swear it on your life, and hers.”</p><p>“I swear,” Hubert murmured. “But you must understand that you can never stop Edelgard. Not unless you are willing to sacrifice everything, to walk at her side as I have. For she <em>is</em> order in New York City.”</p><p>“By her side…?” To leave behind the Golden Deer and the Blue Lions, or to leave them for dead. Were those truly the only options? …Weren’t they the same thing?</p><p>Hubert’s thin lips pursed into a near-invisible seam. No doubt this was the first, and perhaps last, time he’d ever disobey the woman whom he revered as his liege. Then, with a faint nod of affirmation, he whispered, “As the lone and lonely survivor, the responsibility now lies with you. What must happen now is—"</p><p>The door burst open with such force that it was torn off its hinges. “Byleth, you… were stalling for time? Where’s Edelgard?!” Dimitri roared, seizing Hubert in a chokehold and pressing a pistol to his temple.</p><p>“Dimitri, no!” Without thinking I threw myself at his arm. Bernadetta had the same idea, lunging for him as well. Dimitri dropped the pistol in surprise, yet with enormous strength he swept us both out of the way with a single thrust. Both Bernadetta and I went flying. I cried out as I slammed against a desk, halting my trajectory and sending a searing pain through my head and back. Bernadetta had a softer landing, colliding with something that went <em>urgh!</em> Hubert? No, he was still at Dimitri’s feet…</p><p>“Yuri!” Bernadetta suddenly gasped out. <em>Yuri?</em></p><p>“Fucking hell, all of you.” Yuri had fallen to the ground, Bernadetta sprawled out over him. Removing her gently before standing and dusting himself off, he then turned to me. “You will <em>not</em> die here tonight.”</p><p>“Why are you here?” I painstakingly rose to my feet. “How do you know Bernadetta? What—"</p><p>My vision went white as Dimitri lobbed a fist straight into my face. Amongst Bernadetta’s shrill screams and Yuri’s alarmed shouts, Dimitri cornered me on the floor, breathing heavily and speaking in halting sentences. “You know her? So you… you ARE one of Edelgard’s damned accomplices! You lied to me… I knew we should never have trusted scum like you. And Claude, that arrogant bastard, he was wrong too. All of you. ALL OF YOU! Dedue and Ashe’s blood is on all of your hands… I’ll kill every last one of you!”</p><p>Such inhuman strength, fueled by an unquenchable lust for revenge—with one hand he grabbed my face, lifted me off my feet, and prepared to smash my skull into the earth. I clawed at his arm but unable to breathe under his palm, my body grew weak and lost the strength to resist. My mind was going blank. The blood pumping through me drowned out all other sound. I could only stare at his single twitching eye from between his fingers, wondering if it’d be the last thing I saw before getting my head bashed in. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw Hubert kicking Dimitri’s abandoned pistol over to Yuri—</p><p>“Kneel!” he commanded. He took aim, met my eyes, and pulled the trigger.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry it's been a while // thanks for sticking around :''') holiday season is the worst time of year for me, but we've made it out &amp; made it to 2021! hooray!...</p><p>can't guarantee date of next upd8 (could v well be in another couple weeks or end of the month if i'm on top of things) but am considering posting both pen/ultimate chapters together, like i did w the first 2 chapters. tbd! you can find possible upd8s + lukewarm takes from me @deltacapricorn on twitter :B</p><p>in any case, it's been a long adventure &amp; i'm thankful you've read this far. take care for now o/</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. in which Byleth dies once</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>part 1/2 of the end</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whatever role the Black Eagles played in orchestrating what happened next, looking back now, I realize by this time everything had been set in motion and there was nothing I could’ve done differently. But I would never be able to forgive myself, not until death claimed whatever remained of my body and spirit.</p>
<p>According to the news the next day, the bodies of Dimitri Blaiddyd and two unidentifiable persons were found in a ditch alongside one of the running paths in Central Park. There were obvious signs of struggle, though it scarcely explained the two bodies’ disfigured faces. The newspapers wasted far too much ink speculating about the destiny of the Blaiddyd fortune but ultimately exonerated him from wrongdoing. Perhaps he had died in a valiant but ultimately Pyrrhic encounter with gangsters? Regardless, an innocent life, that of a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed southern heir, had been needlessly extinguished.</p>
<p>It hurt to think that Claude was probably absolutely besides himself. The day we went through Dad’s belongings, I could see through his stoicism that Dad’s murder had affected him deeply, even if he only knew the man through myth. So for Dimitri, although they might not have considered themselves more than acquaintances, surely Claude felt responsible for Dimitri’s death too. I dared not imagine what would happen if he learned about Yuri’s role—or mine, for that matter.</p>
<p>By the time I escaped Yuri’s watchful eye to visit the speakeasy, Claude had gone missing. It dawned upon me that I’d never seen the speakeasy without him, an experience I shared with the other Golden Deer. I was reminded of how little I knew about him. I had no idea where he lived, so I couldn’t seek him out. Hilda, even as his chief intelligence officer, admitted she had no clue as to his actual whereabouts.</p>
<p>“He just needs some time,” she’d said, though she seemed to be reassuring herself as much as anybody else listening. “Once he comes up with another one of his infallible schemes, he’ll be back in no time, and the speakeasy will be just like how it used to be! …Mostly, anyways.”</p>
<p>But time wasn’t on our side. In the following days the NYPD—the regular officers, rather than the Black Eagles Strike Force—brought all of us Deer and Lions in for individual questioning, even the folks over in Easton. Doubtless all our names and locations were at their fingertips. I was the last of the bunch to go in. The interrogation cells aboveground were no less sterile than their underground counterparts.</p>
<p>“Do you understand why you are here today, young…fellow?” a mustachioed gentleman asked, peering at me with icy blue eyes through a fashionable pince-nez.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry to interrupt, Hanneman,” the woman beside him interrupted unapologetically. She seemed to be dressed for a night at the opera, rather than for her current position across the desk from me. “But what do I put down our guest as? Mister or Miss Eisner? Hold on a moment, is that the same Eisner as…”</p>
<p>“Just Byleth,” I interjected. I didn’t want to think about Dad, not in this setting. Not after he died trying to protect me from police and gangsters alike. “And, yes, I’m here because… Dimitri. He’s… he’s dead.”</p>
<p>Hanneman cleared his throat, glared daggers at his work partner, then cleared his throat a second time before resuming his work. “Very well, erm, Byleth. Yes, it is a great misfortune that such a gentleman filled with potential and compassion has been stolen away from us all too soon—”</p>
<p>“Goodness gracious, I thought we were at the NYPD headquarters, not the theater,” the woman cut in again. This time I had to stifle a laugh. “Your soliloquizing would be considered quite elegant otherwise.”</p>
<p>“Manuela!” Hanneman made a show of restraining himself from pounding a fist upon the desk. “One more useless retort from you, and I’ll call in a replacement. Why don’t you ask the next question then?”</p>
<p>“Gladly,” she simpered. I thought I might be released soon when she turned to me, but then she lowered her voice and asked coolly, “What’s your connection to Claude Riegan and Yuri Leclerc?”</p>
<p>I opened and closed my mouth like a fish gasping for air. “…what do they have to do with anything?”</p>
<p>The sideways glance Manuela sent to Hanneman sent my heart sinking into the floor.</p>
<p>“You answered my partner’s question incorrectly, by the way,” Manuela followed up. “You’re here because you’re a prime suspect in the murder of Dimitri Blaiddyd, as well as Jeralt Eisner.”</p>
<p>“What?!” I leapt to my feet, my chair clattering onto the floor behind me. “How could you… How could I murder Dad? Gangsters killed him. There were witnesses! Didn’t they say anything? I swear, I—”</p>
<p>“Gangsters? Don’t be so daft. The Strike Force in the basement has been keeping tabs and they haven’t reported anything out of the ordinary.” Hanneman gave me a look so incredulous, and Manuela one so condescending, that I could only shrink back, pick up my chair, and sit myself back down in defeat.</p>
<p>“You <em>are</em> aware that you’ve spent the past few months cavorting gaily alongside said gangsters, right?”</p>
<p>“What, no, I—"</p>
<p>“Don’t even think about lying to us, Byleth dear.” Manuela reached across the table to poke my arm with her ballpoint pen. “We all know Claude leads a powerful rumrunning gang, aided by Yuri. The NYPD only permits the speakeasy to continue operating because it’s a vital information marketplace. Everyone from construction workers to top politicians has frequented the Golden Deer. Even my former intern Dorothea took me there for a few drinks. Why, she suggested I be a guest singer for a night, haha!”</p>
<p>Hanneman mused, “I’ve had a drink or two there myself. If I had more free time I suppose I’d find myself intellectualizing with the curious lot that hangs out at the bar. What were their names again? They started with Ls, I remember that odd statistical anomaly…”</p>
<p>I balled my hands into fists. Before me were two officers brazenly flaunting their privileges, and here I was, completely stripped of all agency. Why was I the one being interrogated for murder when the real injustices that caused all these deaths were written into the codes of our country?</p>
<p>“Well?” Hanneman returned to staring down his nose at me. I hadn’t noticed that the two decrepit officers had finished their reminiscing. “Your relationships to Claude and Yuri. What are they?”</p>
<p>“They’re innocent!” I burst out, then caught myself. If that wasn’t a total red flag, then… “Truly, though. They’re my friends. My best friends. They took me in when I had no place to go, and they showed me how to survive in New York City. I just moved here from the Midwest, you know. With my Dad. But I—"</p>
<p>“How sweet,” Manuela interrupted. “And Mr. Blaiddyd? Did you make out with him too?”</p>
<p>I felt myself blushing violently. They were trying to psych me out! And they were dishonoring his memory too, those bastard cops… “No! Never. I…” <em>They must not know about the brewery.</em> “I just met him at the speakeasy once. And I saw him at the House the night Dad died. Th-that’s it.”</p>
<p>“Is that so? You seem awfully shaken up about an apparent stranger.” Hanneman leaned back, watching Manuela’s notetaking out of the corner of his eye. “Where were you, the night of their murders?”</p>
<p>“Dad died in my arms! I told you, he was murdered by gangsters!” I rose to my feet again, but Manuela waved at someone behind me and I heard the jingling of handcuffs from outside. <em>She’s threatening me…</em></p>
<p>Manuela scribbled lazily in her notepad. “So you don’t have an alibi…”</p>
<p>I so wanted to explode and strangle them both. “You’ve brought in the others from the speakeasy and the House, right? They can tell you! They were there!”</p>
<p>“Tsk, tsk. If you were truly collaborating with others, you would’ve implicated all the rest just now. But you see,” and Manuela flipped through her notes to verify, “both Claude and Yuri had alibis that we independently verified. And even if deep down in my heart I believed they were guilty as hell, they’ve been expertly talking their way out of everything for years. It’s no use trying to pin them down.”</p>
<p>“No, wait, you’ve got it all wrong, I—” Wait. Was I about to implicate them, in order to save my own hide, even though they’d saved me numerous times already? …Was I really to become their scapegoat?</p>
<p>“One last question, though, I’m sure that last bit was already the nail in the coffin for you.” Hanneman stroked his mustache for show before continuing. “Where were you the night of Christmas?”</p>
<p>“I was…” <em>…infiltrating this very building; the Black Eagles Strike Force wing</em>. <em>But there’s no way they could know that, right?... Wait. An officer found Yuri and me the next morning. Does that mean…?</em></p>
<p>My inability to answer was answer enough. Hanneman crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, while Manuela laid her notepad down. I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe Claude had used me.</p>
<p>“We appreciate you making our jobs easier, unlike Claude and Yuri,” Hanneman smirked. “No matter what you would’ve said, Chief Officer Hresvelg of the Black Eagles detected traces of your fingerprints on a smashed radio in their locker room. An odd piece of evidence to leave behind, but sound evidence nonetheless. Oh, and they matched some prints that were left on Mr. Blaiddyd’s hands and arms…”</p>
<p>“My fingerprints? Why would you even have those?”</p>
<p>Manuela shrugged. “Our records indicate you were arrested once by Junior Officer Aegir, and in fact brought to the Black Eagles themselves for questioning. Perhaps they were registered sometime then?”</p>
<p>My mind was spinning. When could they have possibly…? But it could’ve been any time I pushed open a door or rested my hand on a tabletop. I’d only have had to turn my back for them to collect in secret.</p>
<p>“Well, what say you? Do you have a lawyer? If not, we can skip the whole arduous trial by jury process.”</p>
<p>“No, I didn’t do it—”</p>
<p>“Didn’t do enough schmoozing at the speakeasy, I see. That’s unfortunate. Note that down, Manuela?”</p>
<p>“Already done, Hanneman.”</p>
<p><em>Keep calm. Stop feeling. Let go of your emotions. Everything will be better.</em> “Why are you doing this, when you know I’m innocent? It’s true I entered here illegally, but it was to find answers. I needed to know why you, the NYPD, let Dad die. Dimitri’s death is connected, I can tell you everything, I—"</p>
<p>“Listen, sweetie. The Code Breaker’s death was kept under wraps for good reason, and it was a total oversight that young Mr. Blaiddyd’s was publicized by the papers before we could cover it up. If these murders go unsolved, it’ll make the entire city restless, petty crime will go up, significant crime will follow… you understand, right? The people need something to believe in. And you’re the perfect victim.”</p>
<p>“But I didn’t… why would I…” <em>Struggling is no use. Just accept your fate.</em></p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sure the newspaper writers will have a blast coming up with all sorts of motives for you. We don’t work with them directly, but we each have informants on either side. The media is always clamoring for these sorts of juicy stories. Confession or not, you’re the most likely suspect, and since the charge is for two unconnected murders, you’ll be receiving capital punishment. How does that sound?”</p>
<p><em>Capital… punishment…</em> “Do I get to say goodbye?”</p>
<p>The two officers gave me such a pitying look that I felt utterly pathetic and empty inside. They quietly excused themselves, and I was left alone in the interrogation chamber. Glancing over my shoulder there was still a guard posted at the door, so all I could do was wait. Was this the end? <em>How utterly mundane</em>, Yuri might’ve said. <em>I’ll protect you</em>, I imagined Claude saying. But were the past few months all a lie?</p>
<p>
  <strong>---</strong>
</p>
<p>I almost wished it were a Black Eagle escorting me, just so I could’ve seen even one familiar face before I was… executed. That, too, was a strange thought to have. It was all-American culture to postpone, deny, or spit in the face of death for as long as one lived; but what could one do when their time was set in the very near, very known future, and by purveyors of so-called justice, no less?</p>
<p>The jail cell was a relic of the early 19<sup>th</sup> century, supposedly modeled off a penitentiary in Philadelphia and designed for solitary repentance. It was ten paces long and five paces wide, with a dinky bed in one corner and a stained toilet in another. A bible lay on a nightstand missing a leg. There was an outward-facing window barred by an iron grate, and the door featured a tiny aperture at the base for food.</p>
<p>What was the point of repenting if I was going to be executed soon anyway? Perhaps they’d simply run out of space in the regular cells? Or in Heaven and Hell both? Here was the truest sense of dying alone.</p>
<p>Not long after I entered, the small food entrance slid open and a voice called to me.</p>
<p>“Greetings, uh…”</p>
<p>“Byleth.”</p>
<p>“Greetings, Byleth! Excited to meet you.” Was this sentry always this happy to see prisoners on death row? “Folks call me the Gatekeeper, because I’m the only one who has the keys to these cells.”</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you, Gatekeeper,” I muttered, trying to ignore my hunger and exhaustion and confusion.</p>
<p>“Later on you’ll meet the Abysskeeper. He’s called that because he’s the last one they see before they get <em>hwick!</em>” and I was certain he’d just drawn a sharp line across his throat for dramatic effect.</p>
<p>“Is that actually how I’m gonna go?” I asked dryly. Nothing to lose at this point. Except my life, I guess.</p>
<p>He seemed to think about it for a moment. “No, I don’t believe we own a guillotine, so maybe I oughta update my visuals. Thanks for pointing that out! Anyway, you’ll most likely be executed by firing squad.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t that kind of overkill?” I replied. Nothing for a moment, then a sudden burst of laughter.</p>
<p>“Oh, I love puns!” the Gatekeeper wheezed. “There’s a Church detective I worked with a couple times who would’ve appreciated that one. Too bad there won’t be any more opportunities for that, huh?”</p>
<p>The Church… Alois, whom Dad said would act in his stead from now on. Would Alois feel for my death the same way I felt for Dad’s? How could the Church condone capital punishment, anyway? Were Alois and Jeralt also involved in indicting criminals and landing them in my current predicament?</p>
<p>“Anyway, I’ll bring some gruel over in a bit. Even if you can’t really exercise, you’re supposed to be working your brain, to think about what you’ve done and all that jazz. So make sure you eat everything in the bowl, okay? Or else I’ll have to call in the Abysskeeper to force-feed you, and nobody likes that.”</p>
<p>He didn’t wait for my response before slamming the food entrance shut, and I listened to the clack-clack of his boots on stone receding into some distant void. It was mechanical, like the ticking of a clock. With every footstep the Gatekeeper took into oblivion, I stook one step closer toward my death. What have I done? Or what hadn’t I? Was this just incredibly bad luck, or had I been strung along by fate?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time did not exist here. If I strained my ears I thought I could make out the changing of the guards, but the shuffling of feet sounded just like pebbles falling loose from the crumbling exterior façade or inmates down the hall groaning in their personal hells or the voices in my head crying out for help. And it was hot. This was the warmest January on record, and I wondered if I would steam or bake in this cell.</p>
<p>The night Dimitri died kept coming back to haunt me. His single eyeball still staring fixedly at me, the life draining from his limbs as his hands involuntarily released me, the weight of his body and his guilt as he slumped onto me, dead. He didn’t seem dead when the four of us dragged his body upstairs, Hubert and Bernadetta promising to call on their underlings and finish the job, to complete their first and last act of defiance against Edelgard. Or, that wasn’t it. He had died before Yuri shot him. Maybe long before that.</p>
<p>Once in a while, I’d hear a hearty, “Greetings, Byleth!” shortly followed by a grey mushy excuse for food appearing through the tiny aperture in the door. But I couldn’t rely on those punctuations to mark the passage of time, any more than I could bear to shovel that potential shit down my throat. I grew weak.</p>
<p>Hubert and Bernadetta, on the run. Petra, released from her indentured servitude to the Black Eagles. Caspar and Linhardt, returning to cushy positions at their fathers’ heels. Dorothea, rising through the ranks of the NYPD. Ferdinand, on the tight leash of Edelgard, who sat firmly at the top, looking down upon us all. All of them had futures awaiting them, whether because of circumstance or luck. But I…</p>
<p>And what of the Golden Deer Speakeasy, the Blue Lions Brewery, the House of Ashen Wolves? Because they found themselves on the other side of the law, church, and state, or were born into the underground instead of the overworld, there was no American Dream awaiting their outstretched hands. Anyone foolish enough to fight the order would be eliminated. And yet, they still believed…</p>
<p>Time did not exist here. I had nothing to repent. Darkness swallowed me whole. I couldn’t feel myself. I wondered if I was truly the protagonist of this story, or merely a pawn in theirs. Still… I loved them all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Greetings, Byleth!” the Gatekeeper shouted through the tiny food-hole. “Nothing to report today!”</p>
<p>“How many days has it been?” I called back this time, returning yesterday’s plates mostly untouched.</p>
<p>“Oh! Let’s see. You were arrested on the 17<sup>th</sup>, and today’s the 24<sup>th</sup>. Yesterday Governor Roosevelt announced his entry into the presidential race, by the way! Though I guess you won’t live to see him win. Anyway, your execution date is on the 31<sup>st</sup>. Nice way to end the month, don’tcha think?”</p>
<p>“Yes, thank you. And, um. There’s really no way for me to plead my case, or bargain my terms?”</p>
<p>“No sirree. Or ma’am. I mean, uh. Sorry. The answer is no!” And before I could come up with a response I heard the receding clack-clack of his boots against the stone floor as he walked back down the hallway.</p>
<p>Where were Claude and Yuri when I needed them most? Had I been forsaken? Was I already dead too?</p>
<p>I began to hear Dad’s and Dimitri’s voices through the walls. Ashe’s and Dedue’s joined them occasionally. They were sometimes angry, always pained, never deserving, echoing in my head ceaselessly. The only thought that helped me withstand them was that, as long as I did not hear Claude’s or Yuri’s voices, they must still be alive, and so they were okay. And so I was going to be okay.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time did not exist here. Hubert had promised to leave New York forever with Bernie, but they’d have to keep Edelgard off their trails. That must’ve been the purpose of the two additional bodies found with Dimitri. God knows which poor souls donated their corpses to a cause they’d never understand. But would Edelgard really fall for such a stunt? Then again, if she was aware of Dimitri’s superhuman rage…</p>
<p>That left the question of Vestra and Varley leadership. Hubert had mentioned a plan, but also that it’d take some time to fall into place. Furthermore, though I’d never know just how many strings he was pulling behind the curtains, surely he didn’t plan for my execution? Maybe this was all a sick joke, and maybe on the 31<sup>st</sup> I’d have the pleasure of discovering a firing squad made up of the Black Eagles Strike Force. Or, worse, the other Golden Deer. I could even see their tarot cards tucked into their vest pockets for me to see, glinting in the façade of steel. Maybe they’d have Claude and Yuri, bags tied over their heads, restrained beside me—no. They had to live. They would both live. That was the only way the underground could keep operating. I didn’t need to be there; I never needed to be.</p>
<p>I was so alone, yet I never heard the voice of God speaking to me, like the Gatekeeper and the original architects of this cell a hundred years ago promised. But at least Dad was right. I could always hear him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Endless as those days and nights seemed to be, Sunday, January 31<sup>st</sup> of 1932 rolled around in no time. True to the Gatekeeper’s word I heard nothing from and said nothing to the outside. The execution was scheduled for later that evening, followed by a last meal. But I had no appetite. I was disoriented. Death by firing squad? Wasn’t that overkill? A single bullet was all that was needed. And a sharpshooter, maybe. But I knew a few of those. I could even recommend a good friend of mine—</p>
<p>“Hey you. I’ve got something to report.” It was a new voice this time, a bit gruffer and wearier. I leaned down to attempt to catch a glimpse, but I could only make out his steel-toed boots from the food entry.</p>
<p>“…what is it?” I answered. Was this the aforementioned Abysskeeper? My time was up, it seemed…</p>
<p>“Well, uh.” A shuffling of feet during an awkward pause. Then, “Actually, you’re free to go. Turns out you’re not the murderer after all. Then again, I guess you already knew that from the start. Unless…”</p>
<p>“Oh, how wonderful!” piped up the familiar voice of the Gatekeeper beside him. For once his cheer seemed entirely warranted. “Gather whatever belongings you have, Byleth, ‘cause you’re outta here!”</p>
<p>“You numbskull, they don’t have anything on ‘em,” the Abysskeeper muttered. Then, with the jingling of keys and the <em>ka-thunk</em> of several locks, the door groaned open and fluorescent lighting seared my vision for the first time in two weeks. It gave me such a pounding headache, I could barely hear the constant bickering between the two men striding in sync before me. It was a miracle on all counts that I made it out alive, but I felt so awful I nearly wished I could go back to that tiny dark room and lie down.</p>
<p>“Well, be good now, y’hear?” the Abysskeeper said, shoving me none too gently through the iron double doors. “Wouldn’t do anyone any good if you got yourself locked up here again.”</p>
<p>“I for one would be quite excited,” the Gatekeeper chimed in. “We’ve never had any repeat inmates before! Don’t you think that’d be kinda cool?”</p>
<p>I could almost hear the Abysskeeper roll his eyes when he replied, “Cool? What are you, some kinda—” and the gates slammed shut, the crash of metal reverberating throughout the streets.</p>
<p>I took a few steps, inhaling the fresh night air. Was this what freedom was supposed to feel like? Where was I, even? Was I still in New York? I’d walk all the way home if I had to. I just had to get back to them. Biting my lip I could only taste bitterness, mixed with the metallic tang of blood. I was alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I had no sense of time or geography, but somehow my wandering feet brought me to Yuri’s café. Temperatures had finally dropped, yet when I saw his familiar head of lavender locking up the café, the cold seemed to melt away. I was still alive after all. And yet I felt closer to nonbeing than ever before.</p>
<p>“Yuri!” I called, picking up my pace. He swiveled around and nearly dropped his keys when he saw me.</p>
<p>“You’re… you’re alive.” His eyes widened, understandably in shock. But as I approached I saw something more. Disappointment? Despair, at my survival?...</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” I reached for him, but he shrunk away and cast his eyes downward. “What’s wrong?...”</p>
<p>It took him a moment to recompose himself. “I told him… I said you were taken in for interrogation.”</p>
<p>“So? Everybody was.” I knew Yuri wasn’t that stupid. Something was terribly wrong.</p>
<p>“It was only natural that he and I got away from it all scot-free. That’s how it should’ve been.” Yuri tried to grin, but it was more of a grimace. “You, on the other hand; you can’t tell a lie to save your life.”</p>
<p>I felt myself frowning, though inside me there was only a growing, soothing numbness, dulling even the biting cold. “But I got out. Dunno how, the keepers didn’t explain, but I’m here now. Isn’t that enough?”</p>
<p>“He swore he would get you out of there, and to avenge Dimitri and Jeralt by killing Edelgard. Ugh, I… Byleth, forgive me…” He caught me by surprise when he nearly staggered forward, grabbing my shoulder for support. “I’m just so tired of this cycle of violence. He swore he’d set you free. But I…”</p>
<p>I hated how he only used “<em>he</em>” for Claude. I hated how Yuri wouldn’t speak clearly. I hated how painfully he gripped my shoulder. “Yuri, what’s wrong? What happened next? Where is Claude?” I almost wished I could hear his caustic “<em>so many questions as always,”</em> but his eyes seemed to have lost their light.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Byleth. But I told him what happened the night Dimitri died. I… I told him you were there.”</p>
<p>I blanched. “You said you’d keep wouldn’t tell Claude about the Black Eagles infiltration at all! I thought that’d include… was the guilt too much to bear for you? I—but, wait, what does this have to do with…?”</p>
<p>Yuri took one of my hands in his and repeated, barely audible, “He swore he’d set you free.”</p>
<p>“Tell me what that means, dammit!” I nearly slapped him out of frustration. “What did Claude do?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Byleth, I genuinely don’t.” He finally met me with a steely, melancholy gaze. “But I can tell you this: he made a deal with Edelgard.”</p>
<p>Although I didn’t quite understand why or how, in that moment I knew that everything was over. The first snow of 1932 began to fall.</p>
<p>“Byleth!” he called after me, but between the pounding of my own footsteps and my heartbeat I didn’t hear him come after me. Perhaps he was too exhausted, or perhaps he’d already given up. But I had to go. I had no idea where to, and yet there was only one place he could be.</p>
<p>I ran faster than I’d ever run, flying through the streets of Manhattan and ignoring startled cries from disgruntled passers-by, paying no heed to my protesting feet in shoes wholly unsuited to the task, hallucinating Dad’s face amongst the crowd as he pushed me to go faster like when we used to race across the prairie. I had to find Claude. Would I be too late, like with Dimitri? I probably ran about fifteen blocks in fifteen minutes, heart almost giving out as I crumpled onto the sidewalk cellar door, but the sight of those stenciled golden antlers compelled me to throw open the double doors and press onward.</p>
<p>I flew down the stairwell, past Raphael’s post at the door and Lysithea’s at the bar, past the empty chairs and tables and past the stage where four houses once filled the halls with harmony. Muscle memory guided me toward the secret backdoor without thinking, and the momentum of my body swung it open much faster than I’d anticipated. I found myself sprawling on the floor, in a warm, viscous puddle. My heart screamed at me to run away; my mind dragged my eyes to face the source of the liquid. And suddenly I felt like I was drowning, the fires of hell lapping at my ankles like waves on the shore, threatening to pull me into the ocean, to swallow me into the center of the earth for all my sins.</p>
<p>“No, no, no no no nonoNONO CLAUDE—"</p>
<p>So peacefully he sat there, propped against the wall as if taking a quick nap before another busy night at the Golden Deer speakeasy. The pistol I’d carried so diligently in my vest pocket, less than an inch from my heart, now lay in his lap. I could barely bring myself to look at his face, from which spilled forth a crimson flower, whose petals now lay in my hands. Even so, that beautiful boy was smiling. He was free.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. in which Byleth starts over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>part 2/2 of the end<br/>(these were uploaded at the same time, ie the latest chapter you might've read would be ch11, so be sure to read 12 before this one!)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For weeks the newspapers and radio shows delighted in sensationalizing what they depicted as a string of murders wrought by a serial killer, a distraught investor, a closeted homosexual, or other ridiculous hypotheses. Never before had his critiques of race in America rang so true. For they speculated incessantly on his heritage, his colored origins: was he the son of Freedmen or Indians, was he actually foreign-born, or was he a mix of all these and more? Did this explain his unsoundness of mind, his underground lifestyle, his immorality and sexuality? In turn the Code Breaker and the southern heir were transformed into his hapless white victims. The inexplicable silence of both the Church of St. Seiros and the NYPD only fanned the flames. My thoughts often floated back to Dimitri, ravaged by his own historical demons; now I, too, was haunted. Claude’s dreams would never come true, not in this era.</p>
<p>Those nights I found myself roaming the streets, a ghost bound to a prison of flesh. The speakeasy had been boarded up, yellow tape stretched across its doors, though it didn’t deter shameless looters or curious youths. Felix’s apothecary in Chinatown I found abandoned as well, marked only by a garish foreclosure sign pasted over racist graffiti. There was a brief period when Ignatz and Raphael considered buying the place for a new business venture; but their investors bailed as the Depression dragged on, and their nascent company went bankrupt. And Lysithea informed me that Leonie, who was slated to enroll at her university, had vanished after the official news of Jeralt’s death.</p>
<p>As for me… it was through one last meeting with the Golden Deer and Blue Lions, those who of us who were still alive and present anyway, that I found out that officially I’d been “successfully executed.” Whosever scheme that ultimately was, it meant that technically from here on out I would forever be immune to the law. Operating as a ghost, I could move between the underground and overworld at will.</p>
<p>Every so often, Annette would entreat me to visit the former brewery with her, picking up Mercedes along the way. It was always too easy to locate its burnt remains. We’d tidy up Dedue’s and Ashe’s makeshift graves, and Mercedes would offer a prayer for their salvation. She’d then read to us Ingrid’s letters from California, describing her struggles around the failed Galatea gold mines, and Hilda’s and Lorenz’s from Georgia, detailing Marianne’s physical therapy regiments. Sylvain and Felix reportedly went to settle the Blaiddyd inheritance dispute and never returned. And Annette would insistently wheedle me about going to the café and seeing Yuri. Perhaps another time, I’d always reply.</p>
<p>Around when the headlines returned their attention to elections and stocks and when I had otherwise lost the ability to differentiate between dawn and dusk, yesterday and tomorrow, life and living, an envelope slipped under my doorway. I was momentarily unsure what to do with it, then I hastily scooped it up and retreated to the symbolic privacy of my room. My pulse quickened for a moment as I turned it over, expecting either Yuri’s elegant calligraphy or, somehow, Claude’s barely legible scrawl.</p>
<p>Instead I found a hastily scribbled message, the words almost microscopic. My heart had no time to sink:</p>
<p>
  <em>Byleth,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I am not ordinarily one for condolences; however I acknowledge that your tragedies are in no small part due to us who allied with those who slither in the dark, such as Edelgard and I. Hate me if it alleviates your pain. But too much time has passed. You must now work together with Edelgard if you wish to ensure the safety of not only your remaining loved one(s), but the entire overworld of New York City.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Claude was brilliant. I only wish the Black Eagles had reconciled with his existence. He was born before his proper time, his dreams too radical. In any case… are you aware of the implications of his scheme?</em>
</p>
<p><em>You are now the leader of both the Vestra and Varley families of New York. They swear loyalty to you. Execute any who do not. Anticipating your anxiety as the </em>de jure<em> head of two opposing gangs alien to you, Bernadetta advised that we install familiars as </em>de facto<em> heads to ease your otherwise unwelcome appearance. Caspar has taken over the Mob. He will seize control of his father’s business and rebrand as the Bergliez War Group, in order to ensure economic and political capital in the long run. On my side, I have chosen Dorothea as my successor. Mafiosos view her long tenure in the underworld favorably as their new Donna. Both Caspar and Dorothea have pledged their allegiance, and friendship, to you.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>I understand it hurts to hear this. But you would be wise to make an ally out of the greatest threat to your existence, before all hell breaks loose amongst mafiosos and mobsters, and thus all across New York City. Edelgard may see herself as the face of justice in this city, but she must reckon with the fact that all her underlings on the other side of the law serve you now. We can only hope that with these forces, you may be able to bring her and her murderous ambitions to heel, to at least walk by your side.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>In the least pithy way that the medium of the letter permits, I wish you the best of luck. Be well, Byleth.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Hubert</em>
</p>
<p>For a moment I stood in silence, uncomprehending, unstuck in time. Then I tried to unleash my pent-up anger all at once, flipping my desk, but finding myself unsatisfied by the cacophony of books and utensils crashing onto the floor. In the chaos a bent card fluttered past my face, somehow lingering in the air.</p>
<p>I grabbed and uncreased it, heart thudding at the actually familiar script. It contained merely an address in Chicago and the initials <em>KR</em>. The safe haven where Claude had promised that he’d take care of me.</p>
<p>My hands shook. <em>You mean The World to me</em>. No haven was safe if I was there. I couldn’t destroy whatever this place meant to him. And yet, Chicago… if a city like that could nurture someone like him…</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>I was waiting on a westbound platform at Grand Central, returning to the Midwest for the first time since I moved to New York, when a copper-toned hand tugged at my sleeve. It was so ethereal I wondered for a moment if it was Claude’s ghost. When I saw who it was I instinctively drew my pistol, that cursed Colt .25 from my beloved friend, eliciting yelps of fear from other passengers.</p>
<p>“If you are going to be shooting me, do it quick,” Petra deadpanned. “Open carry is not legal here.”</p>
<p>Part of me simply wanted to laugh in her face. Instead I stepped forward and placed the muzzle between her breasts. “As long as Edelgard remains in power, I’m immune to the law and gang violence alike. I’ll just have to keep muddling through life until I die of my own accord. And you’re complicit.”</p>
<p>In a delicate gesture she cocked my pistol for me. “I was not wanting this outcome for Claude either. My freedom should not have had the ultimate cost of his life… I am preferring that you have your anger end with me, instead of having its curse follow you until the end of your days. For this, I have no fear to die.”</p>
<p>“Tch.” I released the pistol’s hammer and slipped it back into my vest pocket. Anger? I felt nothing anymore. “I don’t give a damn what you want. The train bound for Cali’s leaving soon. Don’t miss it.”</p>
<p>Petra’s reply was drowned out by the blowing and hissing of the steam engine, a conductor waving by its side. She then grabbed my hand and shook it firmly. Once upon a time I might’ve been able to understand what messages were hidden in that boundless gaze, but now all I could do was politely break eye contact to signal permission for her to leave. With one last glance at me, she ran and hopped aboard the train as it chugged slowly away from the Grand Central, out back to the Wild West.</p>
<p><em>That noble woman</em>, I thought as I boarded my own train. My Colt .25 had no bullets in.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>In just twenty hours, the fastest train in the world brought me from Grand Central to LaSalle Street. I was completely out of place on the <em>20<sup>th</sup> Century Limited,</em> so I was content to hole up in my jail cell-like compartment. All the better for conserving my energy: sprawling Chicago greeted me by storm, gale force winds sapping away at my strength. The skyscrapers were both towering and spaced out, unlike increasingly cramped Manhattan. Immediately lost and quite desperate to escape the cold, I hailed a taxi. The driver raised an eyebrow when I showed him Claude’s parting words inscribed upon The Moon, but a dollar was a dollar and off we went, hurtling toward whatever future Claude had schemed.</p>
<p>It was a strange building, built like a tiny, staggered fortress with a green spire on one of its roofs. I would’ve believed it to be a relic of some faraway civilization a thousand years ago were it not for its impeccable condition. I was so unaccustomed to entering buildings the normal way that I found myself tiptoeing around each façade, searching for any unlocked entrances or signs of life. A sign on the side proclaimed it to be something called Al-Sadiq. But what was a mosque?</p>
<p>“What business do you have here?” A burly man caught me, his skin tone a few shades darker than Claude’s and sporting a beard that outcompeted Dad’s. He had the slightest accent, but I could only discern that it was non-American. He’d caught me completely unawares, impressive given his size.</p>
<p>“I’m here on behalf of…” My words, his name, they failed me and my voice cut itself off. Instead I opted to pass The Moon with his unmistakable scrawl over to the man.</p>
<p>He sighed, huge shoulders sagging a bit. “Ah. I’d heard the news but didn’t dare believe it. Judith’ll be devastated…” Then, looking me dead in the eyes, “Khalid wrote a lot about you, you know. Quite a lot.”</p>
<p>Khalid…? I nodded dumbly. Though I’d never heard the name, something in my dying heart knew that it had to be him. <em>Claude. Khalid. </em>A sharp pain pierced my chest, and I longed for the numbness to return.</p>
<p>“Come. He left a little something for you.”</p>
<p>Too exhausted to be surprised, I simply followed. He, too, avoided the main entrance, instead entering via the fire exit into the basement, through a labyrinthine tunnel, and finally to a reinforced door.</p>
<p>“The name’s Nader, by the way,” he grunted, more of a side thought as he tangled with a large keyring.</p>
<p>“I’m Byleth,” I replied perfunctorily, figuring he was already aware. He nodded in acknowledgement.</p>
<p>Nader grappled with several locks all along the door, each clunking open with the heavy <em>kachunk</em> of large deadbolts. With a grunt of exertion, he leaned all his weight against the door and pushed it open.</p>
<p>The smell of mold and mineral filled my nostrils as I followed him in. He pulled on the tab for a ceiling lamp, and I couldn’t help but gasp as the light settled over the room.</p>
<p>“I don’t suppose he ever told you about this, did he?” Nader elbowed me a bit roughly. “Don’t suppose he thought to leave a tip for having a religious institution like ours risk storing his shit like this either.”</p>
<p>“Take anything you want,” I exhaled, stepping in gingerly. The room was stacked with gold bars, from floor to ceiling, and miscellaneous jewelries were littered about. “Did he really… leave this all for me?”</p>
<p>Nader hefted two bars with each hand, weighing them against each other. “As far as I know, yes. But if I may be so bold to suggest something, my young friend…?”</p>
<p>“Go ahead.” I crouched by a pile in the corner. Perched atop was a small silver ring inlaid with an octagonally-cut emerald. Sliding it onto my left ring finger, the sight of it fitting perfectly stirred something within my otherwise unfeeling heart. How long had it been sitting there, waiting for me?</p>
<p>Nader, catching sight of the ring, remained silent for a moment. Then, clearing his throat, “There’s been talk of the feds considering seizing all private stashes of gold. They may even resort to making it an executive order. It’s nice that Khalid left this all for you, but if you wait too long, it’ll become a burden.”</p>
<p>“What’re you thinking then?” I stood up straight and wiped my face. I watched Nader’s line of sight fall upon the ring, then back to my face. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in slight unease.</p>
<p>“Well, ever since Al Capone got convicted, the Outfit’s been divided in a power struggle between his named successor and his right-hand man. As a result, the Chicago underground’s been in absolute chaos, to say the least. I’m not saying you should stage a takeover, but my guess is that some, er, friendly competition will force them to get their shit back together. You see what I’m saying?”</p>
<p>I hummed my acknowledgement. I obviously couldn’t bring this treasure trove back to New York, and I didn’t have the clout, charisma, or proper connections to rebuild the Golden Deer, never mind reestablish the whole brewery operation from farm to table.</p>
<p>“You seem to have good business sense for underground marketplaces,” I mused. “If I were to move the survivors of the Vestra-Varley turf war here, how long do you think it would take for us to recuperate?”</p>
<p>Nader gave me a look, one that I immediately recognized as Claude’s way of saying, <em>seriously?</em> But then he sat down on a pile of gold and patted a bar next to him. “Let’s talk shop.”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>When we emerged from the mosque, the sun was already halfway below the horizon, casting the streets in an eerie crimson. There still ought to be eastbound trains running, though I may have to transfer…</p>
<p>“One last thing, kiddo,” Nader interjected. Clearing his throat, “In the event that you die before all of this is used up, who should this wealth, and more importantly the leadership of the gangs, go to?”</p>
<p>“Hubert and Bernadetta,” I answered without a second thought. He gave me the single-raised eyebrow of doubt. “I mean, foremostly, you take anything you need for the temple, your needs, and… for Khalid’s family. But I mean it, about the transfer of leadership. I’ll make sure it’ll be safe for them to return.”</p>
<p>He seemed torn between reproaching me for my idealism and simply refusing my plan, but then his expression softened, and he opted to ruffle my hair instead, making me blush lightly. “You got it, Boss.”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>I only planned to be back in New York just long enough to collect what few belongings I had and any keepsakes Dad had left behind. Knowing that I couldn’t bring any of my former rumrunning companions to the gangs with me, I felt it would be easier simply to disappear, in order to cause the least hurt for all. And yet there was one last thing to take care of, one last-ditch attempt I had to try before I left for good.</p>
<p>“Come with me to Chicago, Yuri,” I found myself begging him, having caught him closing up the café.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, but this is goodbye.” He kept his gaze fixed on the door, unmoving even after he locked it.</p>
<p>“If it’s the gang violence, you don’t have to worry anymore… I don’t understand why you have to go.”</p>
<p>Yuri covered his face with one hand and shook his head in frustration. “There’s something I hoped to never tell you, but I might as well come clean while we’re standing together in the cold like this. You remember that Sunday after Thanksgiving, yeah? I found you at mass, you came to the House in the evening, the Black Eagles arrested you? Well, that morning, the Church hired me to kill you. I was to care for you as a shepherd his sheep, wring out any info about Claude and the speakeasy, and get rid of you when the time was ripe. Jeralt’s death was <em>not</em> in our plans; Edelgard moved far too quickly for the Church to react properly. And growing close to you was… most definitely an unanticipated side effect. But the fate that has befallen you now is far worse than anything I could’ve ever imagined for you.”</p>
<p>He watched me inhale deeply, hold it for a moment, and then exhale it all out. Nothing. I felt nothing. What he might’ve assumed was simply my newly acquired poker face was in reality all there was to it.</p>
<p>“You say all that, and yet you’re still leaving?” I said, forcing a hint of indignation into my voice, when I was already resigned to this fate of mine. “You’re all I have left, Yuri. After all you’ve done for me, I…”</p>
<p>Yuri sighed, cupping my cheek with his cold, doll-like hand. “Byleth, you pitiful thing. Perhaps you might have loved me; perhaps I loved you too. In any case, I think I ought to atone for all my sins up to now. And after all this? A month, a year, a decade from now... You will always remember that I was the one who killed Claude, who truly loved you; and I will always remember you as the one he died to protect.”</p>
<p>Everything familiar was collapsing, disappearing, dying all around me. Even as Yuri stared into my eyes I saw not my reflection but Claude’s. “Yuri, no, I… I killed him. I killed Claude. It’s my fault. I—"</p>
<p>“Oh, stop it,” he murmured, leaning forward. I barely registered his lips on my cheek as he embraced me gently. “You know that won’t do anyone any good. And who knows? Maybe Claude knew this would happen. Maybe this is, in fact, all according to plan… Just be a darling and smile for me, yeah?”</p>
<p>I nodded dumbly, feeling so small. He hugged me tightly again for just a moment, then let me go for the last time. With that he slipped away, like a bird taking off from an unsteady perch, leaving behind only rustling leaves. His back turned to me, his lavender hair illuminated briefly like a gorgeous halo as he passed under a streetlight – that’s my last memory of him. I don’t even remember his face anymore.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“Boss! The police escort has been sighted. Chief Hresvelg will be here any moment now. Your orders?”</p>
<p>I snap out of what seemed like a long daydream or nightmare, I’m not sure which. I’m a bit surprised to see that in the meantime the underlings have put in some solid effort to clean up the place. A group of them have also figured out how to operate the freight elevator, evidenced by a growing stockpile of large wooden crates with “BERGLIEZ WAR GROUP” spray-painted erratically across them. I briefly close my eyes and think up a silent prayer to Nader for holding onto enough gold for us to fund this operation.</p>
<p>“Finish unloading the cargo. Find Caspar and Dorothea and have them prepare their debriefings.”</p>
<p>“You got it, Boss!” chime in a few of the grunts in unison, then scattering to find their family leaders. I mosey over to the bar and ease myself into a stool (were they always so high off the ground?), but I’m disappointed to find out my cigarette’s already burnt through. I glance at the backdoor; the moss indicates that it has remained untouched, as I’d commanded. My chest tightens. <em>She’s coming.</em></p>
<p>The click of her heels resounds through the empty hallways, with no music or chatter to mask her arrival. I can make out two other pairs of boots in addition, padding alongside her like a guard dog. Everyone in the ballroom takes a collective breath of anticipation as the double doors swing open.</p>
<p>“It’s been a while, Byleth. Your little gangs have really blossomed over the past decade. The NYPD, and I suppose Chicago’s as well, has to thank you for stamping out the sparks of new rebellions and protests.”</p>
<p>Chief of Police Edelgard Hresvelg surveys the scene before her, taking stock of the cargo and the rows of moonshine left on the shelves. To her left stands Senator Linhardt Hevring, suppressing a yawn; to her right, a rather deflated-looking Vice Chief Ferdinand Aegir, hair unkempt and spilling over his shoulders.</p>
<p>I slip off the bar stool and amble over. Her eyes have grown greyer, resembling her silvery hair, but they’ve always been cold. Caspar and Dorothea materialize on either side of me, with Alois at the rear.</p>
<p>“But the real question is… is it true, you’ve never killed a man? Or a woman, for that matter?”</p>
<p>I stop in my tracks. <em>I killed Claude; don’t you know?</em> I reply curtly, “Here’s a sample of what you wanted.”</p>
<p>Edelgard steps forward and clutches both Dorothea’s and Caspar’s faces in her hands. They stare back defiantly. “Why did Hubert and Bernadetta appoint you two, I wonder... It’s a pity they’re dead,” she mutters, enunciating the <em>d</em>s. Then she releases them, leaving them sputtering.</p>
<p>I feel a pang of relief, long a foreign emotion. But then she turns back to me. “Those two foisted a lot of responsibility onto your shoulders, didn’t they? At least I chose to seize the NYPD by my own volition.”</p>
<p>Ferdinand chokes in the background. Edelgard and I disregard him, fixing our gazes on each other. Hubert was right, all those years ago; she is my closest ally now, by virtue of being my greatest enemy.</p>
<p>I break eye contact to nod at Caspar, who leads us to the weapons crates. A lackey plies a box open, and from where I’m standing I can see the glint of black steel, foretelling the deaths of thousands to come.</p>
<p>Linhardt shuffles quietly next to me, beckoning Ferdinand to accompany Edelgard. “I can still see her at the counter, and hear the clink of that indecorous graduated cylinder she used to measure her drinks.”</p>
<p>“What do you want, Linhardt?” I rasp, rubbing the butt of my cigarette on said counter.</p>
<p>He gives a long sigh. “I don’t know how extensive your network of informants is, but I’d like you to know that Dr. Ordelia passed away last week. The cause of death appears to be radiation exposure.” He leans in, and I fight all my instincts to shy away. “She was on Team Omega for the Manhattan Project, so her death is classified. But if you’d like, I’ll pull some strings and have her body returned to her parents.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off,” I growl, but Dorothea appears and places a hand on my shoulder, shaking her head.</p>
<p>“Please do that, Lin,” she requests in my stead. “Ugh, it’s almost been a year since Pearl Harbor…”</p>
<p>Linhardt nods. “The war heroes we celebrate are the soldiers and the factory workers, but the real casualties are the invisible people behind the scenes, and the citizens who get caught in the crossfires.”</p>
<p>“Big talk for a guy who voted for the American declaration of war.” Dorothea can’t look at him anymore.</p>
<p>“Everyone did, except that one pacifist-feminist-whatever woman,” he yawns, attempting to maintain a serious façade. “There’s no point in forfeiting my entire political career by voting against the inevitable.”</p>
<p>The three of us stand in silence. Linhardt passes around a few cigarettes, which Dorothea lights for us.</p>
<p>“Ferdinand, speak honestly, or I will have your tongue.” Edelgard’s voice cuts across our lack of conversation. “Will we be able to extinguish the Japanese military with this grade of weaponry?”</p>
<p>“Oh, without a doubt,” Ferdinand replies, alert to his sudden usefulness. Walking and talking, he eagerly peers into each box, occasionally stroking one of the guns. “Pearl Harbor was unfortunate, but it’ll be even worse for the Japs. Their technology is inferior in all respects to these top-quality Remingtons. And classified reports indicate that the Manhattan Project has just received additional government funding!”</p>
<p>Edelgard nods approvingly. “Now, what’s the best way to transport these without them finding out?...”</p>
<p>“That reminds me!” Ferdinand seems to glow with joy. “Petra’s father, the Navajo chieftain, was a code-talker during the Great War. I am certain we can coerce Petra to help train a fresh battalion of code-talkers for this war. So even if the Japs or Germans wire-tapped us, they would not understand a thing!”</p>
<p>“Alright, calm down, Ferdinand,” Edelgard says firmly, though there’s a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. But for once you’ve got an idea that’s halfway decent.”</p>
<p> “In a different timeline I’m sure anthropologists would be drooling over themselves at the thought of re-accessing the Navajo languages,” Linhardt mutters. “Or, even better, in a different timeline I’d be peacefully napping in some secluded monastery, rather than orchestrating a global catastrophe.”</p>
<p> “That’s all very nice to imagine, but for now we’ll have to relegate such imaginaries for peacetime rebuilding,” Edelgard cuts in. Then, turning to me again, “Are you ready to sign the contract, Byleth?”</p>
<p>For the first time I have a good look at her. Her hair is almost all white now, though she’s only in her mid-thirties. Those pale grey eyes, opaque like opals, yet burning like rubies, are not filled with malice as I always imagined. They’re certainly not brimming with kindness nor tears, but… Unlike Claude, Dimitri, or Yuri, there’s hope in her eyes. There’s a faith in herself, even moreso than belief in a better future.</p>
<p>“Byleth? Are you listening?” She meets my piercing stare with a full, warm smile. I feel mildly repulsed, though I’m not sure at whom. “I’ll repeat the terms for your benefit: This contract will both acknowledge our trade partnership and grant amnesty to all members of the Vestra and Varley crime syndicates, past and future. That is, men who join the military, and women and disabled folk who labor in the factories, will have their criminal records erased from NYPD records. To win this war we’ll need all hands on deck.”</p>
<p><em>Amnesty… past and future…</em> I nod, almost fervently. “I understand. Let us proceed.”</p>
<p>There is no ceremony to commemorate the signing of thick packets of documents. I scribble my name as fast as I can, while Edelgard shows much more elegance. Alois notarizes each page, and I wonder how he must feel as a Church-affiliated witness, bound to me by some handwave-y sense of familial piety.</p>
<p>But as the documents are exchanged between gloved hands and lifted delicately into bulletproof suitcases, I find it in myself to say quietly, “Thank you, Edelgard.”</p>
<p>She wears an odd smile for that. “You may call me El,” she says simply, then turns on her heel. I watch Ferdinand scurry after her, Linhardt following with much more effort, before I shake off the strange feeling that had settled over me, over the two of us, in that fleeting moment. <em>El?...</em></p>
<p>“Dorothea, see the Chief and her cadre out to their car safely. Eliminate any witnesses. Caspar, get the boxes packed and send the message to War Group HQ to get ready to empty our inventory. All of it.”</p>
<p>The two of them salute and go their separate ways. Alois sidles up to me. “Shall I get the car, Boss?”</p>
<p>I glance at the mossy outline of the once-hidden escape route. “Go on without me,” I say. “Tell Caspar and Dorothea to gather everyone at the factory. I’ll meet them there.”</p>
<p>“Alright, li’l sib,” he replies uneasily. But because I don’t budge, he finally obeys and disappears.</p>
<p>When the last of the gangsters have cleared out of the speakeasy, I hesitantly make my way over to that revolving door. A gentle push on the stone, a slight protest from the moss, and it creaks slowly open for me. The darkness swallows me whole as the momentum of the door swings itself shut behind me.</p>
<p>I could wield my lighter, but instead I walk unsteadily with my hands out until they contact a damp surface. Turning around and leaning back against the wall, I slide down gingerly as my legs grow weak beneath me. I take one last drag from my cigarette, then stamp it out where his blood once flowed.</p>
<p>I realize I’ve carried with me the Colt .25 that the underling discovered and forfeited to me when we first entered the speakeasy, a quick exchange just earlier, though it feels as if entire months have passed in between. It feels warm, almost alive in my hands, lapping up the sweat from my palms. I close my eyes, and I can only see Claude’s face beside me, the flower on his brow. I dimly recall that Yuri had been the last one of us to touch his body, as the one who brought him to the coroner’s. In the end, I’d left the dirty work to Yuri. How hard it must’ve been, having outlived his former partner.</p>
<p>Toying with it, I have no idea if the pistol is loaded. It’s hard to guess, since it was abandoned here long ago—out of negligence, or because it was no longer useful? Perhaps it’s better if I don’t know. Cock it, lift it to my temple; put it back down, lower the hammer. Did Claude do this too? Or did he not hesitate?</p>
<p>I wonder if Yuri is still alive, if he’s well. I also wonder if Claude is still alive, somehow, somewhere.</p>
<p>Instead I think I’ll close my eyes and rest awhile. Whatever happens next, I decide I’ll leave up to fate.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>,,, &amp; that's the end!</p>
<p>thanks to all of you who read this work. i mean it! this fic was prob unconventional &amp; difficult to read (not being bashful or arrogant here, just purely based on ao3 stats lmao) so i really appreciate that you stuck w me til the end.</p>
<p>there were a lot of themes i tried to squeeze in, tho the one that might explain the most of the weird narrative choices is that of opposites to canon, mainly byleth losing their emotions &amp; relationships over time, rather than gaining feelings &amp; friends as in the original story. the overarching plot was also conceived of during a lot of shitty politics in the usa, so that's where a lot of the race/police vibes come from: though our infrastructures and technologies have vastly advanced, the social inequalities that existed - and were talked about/protested against - back then are largely, unfortunately, unchanged from today. so this ended up being not v wholesome. tho as a qtpoc, i do always find inspiration in claude &amp; his dreams of tearing down borders,,,</p>
<p>last comment, this was a self-indulgent fic insofar as i wanted to challenge myself to finish a longform piece for the first time. there are plenty of much better-written, more thrilling &amp; compelling, more readable fe3h fics out there, but none of them can say... hello! i, deneb, accomplished a thing! so that's that.</p>
<p>find me + future writings + lukewarm takes on the state of society @deltacapricorn on twitter. thanks again for being osm, ao3/fe3h community! hope to catch you again soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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